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Full text of "St. Nicholas"

From the collection of the 



Prejinger 

^^ V Jjibrary 
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San Francisco, California 
2008 



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1853 


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MASS. 



ST. NICHOLAS: 



AN 



Illustrated M. 



LLUSTRATHD iVlAGAZINE 



For Young Folks. 



CONDUCTED BY 



MARY MAPES DODGE. 



I/O'' 

,7 



VOLUME XIX. 
Part I., Novemuer, 1891,10 .\i'ril, 1892. 



T"E CENTURY CO., NEW YORK, 

T. FISHER UNWIN, LONDON. 



Copyright, 1892, by The Century Co. 



/^ .J/e. ^^^ 



"c^ 




The De Vinne Press. 



ST. NICHOLAS 



VOLUME XIX. 



PART I. 

Six Months — November, 1891, to April, 1892. 



VI CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Escape of a Whole Menagerie, The. (Illustrated by E. W. Kemble). . . Edgar W. Nye 149 

Evil Effects of a Circus Poster, The. Picture 318 

Experiments in Kite-Flying. (Illustrated by Meredith Nugent) N. Frederick Carryl 466 

Famous Tortugas Bull-Fight, The. (Illustrated by W. H. Drake) Charles Frederick Holder .... 403 

Fashion Note. Comic picture, by P. Newell 294 

February. Picture, drawn by Lizbeth B. Comins 287 

Firelight. Poem. (Illustrated) Virginia Woodward Cloud . 328 

First Arithmetic Lesson, The. Picture, drawn by M. E. Spencer 438 

First of the Rattlesnakes, The. (Illustrated by G. W. Edwards) Charles F. Lummis 26 

First Tooth, The. Picture, drawn by V. Tojetti 71 

Flag, Honors to the. (Illustrated by H. A. Ogden) . .W. J. Henderson 138 

Fro.m Ship to Shore. (Illustrated by W. Taber) John M. Ellicott, U. S. N . . 323 

GENI.A.L Grimalkin, The. Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) J. G. Francis 332 

Glacier, The Story of the Swiss. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) Mary A. Fobifison 451 

Historic Dwarfs. (Illustrated) Mary Shears Roberts 

Sir Jeffrey Hudson 254 

Hold Fast Tom. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) David Ker 346 

Honors to the Flag. (Illustrated by H. A. Ogden) IV. J. Henderson . . 138 

How They Ride. Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Eva L. Carson 48 

If. Jingle Tohn Kendrick Bangs 448 

It Really Rained Jidian Ralph 408 

Jack's Letter. (Illustrated) R. E. L 379 

Janu.\ry. Picture drawn by Lizbeth B. Comins 172 

Jericho Bob. (Illustrated by E. W. Kemble) Anna Eichberg King 65 

Jingles 95, 141, 260, 311, 332, 351, 391, 395, 448 

Johnny's Reckoning. Verse Caroline Evans 351 

Jugglers in the Moss. Poem. (Illustrated by W. H. Drake) Edith M. Tho??ias 173 

Kite-Flying, Experiments in. (Illustrated by Meredith Nugent) N. Frederick Carryl 466 

Kites, Reaching a Great Height With. (Illustrated by Meredith Nugent) . VVilliatn A. Eddy 464 

Knight, the Yeoman, and the Fair Damosel, The. Verse. (Illustrated 

by the Author) 

Lark's Secret, The. (Illustrated by Harriet R. Richards) Jessie B. Sherman 410 

Launcelot's Tower. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) Marjorie Richardson 56 

Little Billy and the Old Hen. Picture, drawn by Sophie B. Ricord 78 

Little Maid of Spain, The. Poem. (Illustrated) Helen Gray Cone 163 

Little Man in the Orchestra, The. Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Vkx^) . Malcolm Douglas ... 278 

Little Mr. Quimbo. (Illustrated by W. Taber) E. Vinton Blake 353 

Little Nut People. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author and P. Newell) . . .Pearl Rivers 230 

Lizbeth's Song. Poem. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Virginia Woodward Cloud . . 24 

Long Hillside, The. (Illustrated by W. L. Sheppard) Thomas Nelsoji Page 106 

Man who Married the Moon, The. (Illustrated by G. W. Edwards) .... Charles F. Lummis 340 

March. Picture, drawn by Lizbeth B. Comins 339 

Menagerie, The Escape of a Whole. (Illustrated by E. W. Kemble) . . .Edgar W. Nye 149 

Monarch of Olla, The. Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Johnson 329 

Mother Goose in Silhouette. (Illustrated by Katherine Baldwin Robertson). 7i?Jd;^/2 Jefferson 225 

Music Box, The. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author). Katharine Pyle 315 

Near and Far. Verses. (Illustrated by A. R. Wheelan) Margaret Vandegrift 375 

New Story of the Apple Pie, The. Verses. (Illustrated and engrossed > 

by W. H. Drake) ^^- ^- ^'"''^''^^ 5^ 

New Toy and the Clock, The. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) Katharine Pyle 315 

Noah's Ark, The. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Katharine Pyle 152 

November. Picture, drawn by Lizbeth B. Comins 55 

November in the Canon. (Illustrated by the Author) Mary Hallock Foote 439 

Nut People, Little. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author and P. Newell). . .Pearl Rivers 230 

Page of Beetles, A. (Illustrated) Pared Elderkin 394 

Peculiarly Appropriate. Comic picture, by P. Newell 294 

Penguins. (" Almost a Quadruped.") (Illustrated by Alice Beard and ) 

A. Doring) \ ^ary V Worstell 3^6 

Pictures 32, 55, 71, 78, 87, 112, 171, 172, 253, 260, 287, 293, 294, 307, 313, 318, 339, 420, 438, 456 



\ Jack Bennett 209 



CONTENTS. 

Pike's Peak by R.ail, To the Summit of. (lUastrated by xMary Hallock > ^^^^^ ^ Ferguson 

Foote and from photographs) 

Pink Gown, The. (Illusiraied by K. B. Birch) -'/""^ -^^'O' 

Professor Chipmunk's Surprising Adventure. (Illustrated by Dan Beard) Tudor Jenks 

PCZZLED SCHOUVR, A. lingle. (Illustrated by the Author) Caroline C. PeddU 

Puzzler, A. Jingle -^"^^^ Kendrtck Bangs .... 

Re.\chi.\g a Gre.\t Height With Kites. (Illustrated by Meredith Nugent) . William A. Eddy 

Ready for a Straw-ride. Picture, drawn by J. H. Dolph • - ^ 

Record of Master Harry's Ups and Downs, .\ L. X. W. 

Referee, The. Picture, drawn by John Richards 

Revenge of the Fawns, The. (Illustrated by G. \V. Edwards Charhs F. Lummis 

Reviewing Day. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) Katharine PyU 

Reward of the Cheerful Candle, The. (Illustrated by Alice Beard) Mary V. WorsUll 

Romance. Poem. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) MiUred HawelU 

Rudder, The. Poem <^'^"'_ Thaxter 

Russian Children in the Ur.a.l Mount.mns. David Ker 

Sea-fight off the -\zores, The. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) C. H. Palmer 

Seals' Crystal Pal.\ce, The. (lUustrated by -Meredith Nugent) John R. Coryell 

Seven Years Without a Birthd.ay ^^•- ^^'^^^ M ^Arthur. 

Ship to Shore, From. (Illustrated by W. Taber) John M. Elhcott, 1 . 5. -\ 

Shocking Aff.ajr, -\. (Photographs by Elizabeth S. Tucker) 

Smallest Favors Thankfully Received, The. Picture, drawn by Otto j 

Wolf ^ „ ^ . ^ 

South American Hunt, -A. (Illustrated by W. H. Drake) Herbert H. Smith 

Spelling "Kitten." Jingle -^^- ^- barman 

Story of the Swiss Glacier, The. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) Mary A. Robinson 

Strange Corners of Our Country. (lUustrated) Charles F. Lummis 

Introduction 

Grand Canon of the Colorado 

The Petrified Forest 

The Great .\merican Desert 

The Snake-dance of the Moquis 

The Navajo Indians " 

Strike i\ the Nursery, The. Picture, drawn by John Richards ■ 

Tee-wahn Folk-stories. (Illustrated by G. W. Edwards) CharUs F. Lummis 

The First of the Rattlesnakes 

The Coyote and the Woodpecker 

The Revenge of the Fawns " ' " 

The Man who Married the Moon • 

There Was a Man. Verses. (Illustrated and engrossed by R. B. Birch). . . Hilaire Belloc 

Tom Paulding. ( Illustrated by W. A. Rogers) Brander Matthe-u-s .^ 

113, 186,266,. 

Too Early and Too Late. Pictures, from photographs 

To the Summit of Pike's Peak by R-ML. (Illustrated by Mary Hallock ( ^^^^ ^ Ferguson 

Foote, and from photographs) * 

Two Ends of a String. Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) Margaret Johnson 

Two Girls and a Boy. (Illustrated by V. Perard) fiol>^ Howe FUUlur. . . 

295. 
Two Queer Cousins of the Crab. (Illustrated by Meredith Nugent) . . Eliza Ruhamah Scidmon 

LPS AND Downs, A Record of Master Harry's L. S. W. 

ValentI.NE. .\. Verse. (Illustrated by l^ura C. Hills) ^l'*!, x-V' a // // 

War Elephants. (Illustrated by Meredith Nugent) CharUs Fredcruk Holder 

What Marcia is Reading. (lUustratetl by G. W. Edwards) R.E.L... 

What Willie Wants. Jingle. ( Illustrated by C. T. Hill ^ P •'^'■'t'^^'", V 

When I Was Your .\ge. (Illustrated) ^"'^' ^- f^'^^'"^' „ 

289, 

Winning of Vanelij^, The. (Illustrated by E. B. Benscll) Tudor Jenks . 
Winter Fairies. Picture, drawn bv F. G. Attwootl - ■ 

... ~r D .Mrs. M. F. Butts ... 

Winter Trees. Poem 



VIII CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Wish You Happy New Year. Picture, drawn by Lizbeth B. Comins 172 

Year with Dolly, A. (Illustrated and engrossed by R. B. Birch) Eiidora S. Bumstead 224 

273, 352, 429 

Ye Olde Tyme Tayle of Ye Knighte, Ye Yeo-manne, and Ye Faire ) ^^^^ Bennett 209 

Damosel. Yerse. (Illustrated by the Author) ) 

FRONTISPIECES. 

" Romance," by R. B. Birch, facing Title-page of Volume — " Margery and the Twins at the ' Christmas Inn,' " 
by R. B. Birch, page 82 — "The Little Maid of Spain," from a painting, page 162 — "A Perfect Gentleman," by 
j' H. Dolph, page 242 — "Two Boys of Holland," from a painting by Cuyp, page 322 — "The Idle Student," 
by Thomas Couture, page 402. 

Music. (Illustrated.) 

On Christmas Day Julian Mount 236 

Cuddle Down, Dolly \ Kate Douglas Wiggin 310 

DEPARTMENTS. 

Jack-in-the-Pulpit. (Illustrated.) 

Introduction — "True as Persimmons " — A Farmer's Bull Killed by a Bear — A Foolish Old Saying — News 
for the Little Schoolma'am — The Gruesome Girl — A Boy Adopted by a Cow — Brought Up on Milk (illus- 
trated) — The Four Words Discovered — Speculative Astronomy, 74; Introduction — Counting a Billion — 
A Western Whittington and his Cats — " I Don't Care a Rap"— A Puzzle in Addition — November— Pos- 
sum Stowaways (illustrated) — A Good Long German Word, 154; Introduction — A True Story — Cows 
Wearing Blue Spectacles — A Piece of Rudeness — Who Knows ? — The Kinkajou (illustrated) — A Pink Bear 
and a White Frog, 234; Introduction — Counting an English Billion — A Wonderful Cure — ATa^ne Sea- 
gull—Far-away Pets — Hermit-crabs (illustrated), 392; Introduction — Asleep but Busy — Mrs. Ballard's 
Reply — It's English, You Know — "Was You? " Indeed! — Spring Novelties — A Snake Sheds Its Skin — 
A Scientific Jingle (illustrated), 474. 

For Very Little Folk. (Illustrated.) 

How Johnny Got a Gun If. A. Ogden 72 

Shoe Play ' Edith Goodyear 153 

The Barefoot Dance Alice M. Kellogg 233 

Shoe Play Edith Goodyear 307 

From Fido 312 

Bruno and Jim M. F. J. 472 

The Letter-box. (Illustrated) 76, 156, 237, 316, 396, 477 

The Riddle-box. (Illustrated) 79, 159, 239, 319, 399, 479 

Editorial Notes 316, 396, 476 




ROMANCE." 



ST. NICHOLAS. 



Vol. XIX. NOVEMBER. 1891. No. i, 

Copyright, 1891, by The Century Co. All rights reserved. 

ROMANCE. 



By Mildred Howells. 



Down from the sunken door-step to the road, 
Through a warm garden full of old-time flowers, 

Stretches a pathway, where the wrinkled toad 
Sits lost in sunlight through long summer hours. 

Ah, little dream the passers in tlie street. 

That there, a few yards from the oUl house door. 

Just where the apple and the pear trees meet. 
The noble deeds of old are livetl once more! 

That there, within the gold-lit wavering shade. 

To Joan of .Vrc angelic voices sing. 
And once again the brave inspired maid 

Gives up her life for France and for her king. 

Or now no more the fields of France are seen. — 
They change to Fngland's rougher, collier shore. 

Where rules Fli/abeth, the Virgin ()ueen. 

Or where King .\rtluir holds his court once more. 

The stupid village folk they cannot see; 

Their eyes are old, and as they pass their way, 
It only seems to them beneath the tree 

They see a little dark-tned girl at i)lay. 

3 



A DASH WITH DOGS FOR LIFE OR DEATH. 

(An Arctic Story Founded on Fact.) 



By Lieutenant Frederick Schwatka. 



From the northern part of Hudson's Bay, remain firmly bound in the ice for two years, 

already arctic in character, stretches far toward During this long time, much longer than that 

the pole a deep inlet, which some early navi- for which the vessel had been provisioned, the 

gator of those desolate polar shores has termed crew were dependent on the many Eskimos 

Roe's Welcome — as if anything within that ice- who clustered around the ship. The natives 

bound and lonely coast could be welcome to supplied them with ample quantities of reindeer, 

a person just from civilization ! The name no musk-ox, seal, and walrus-meat in return for 

doubt was given in memory of some escape from small quantities of molasses and coffee. Their 

the drifting ice-packs, when the inlet furnished companionship, too, rude as it was, did much 

refuge from one of the fierce storms of that polar to while away the dreary, lonely hours of the 

region. two years' imprisonment. 

Roe's Welcome is a famed hunting-place for But the lonesome and inactive life was most 

the great polar whale, or " bowhead " as the trying to the more energetic of the crew, 
whalers call it. This huge whale, which is Many ingenious expedients were resorted to 

indeed immense in size, often makes his home by both officers and men to keep themselves 

among the great ice-packs and ice-fields of free from mental and physical depression. Of 

the polar seas, and a goodly quantity of these course many of these were friendly outdoor 

it finds in Roe's Welcome. But these ice- games, near the ship, on the smooth ice-floe 

packs, swinging to and fro with the tides, cur- that had formed around her. In these sports, 

rents, and winds in such a long narrow inlet as the Eskimos rudely but good-naturedly joined, 
this, render navigation dangerous even for the As the days grew longer, in the spring, walks 

stanch whaling-ships, and they generally make were taken, but when several of the sailors had 

their fishing-grounds off the lower mouth of the lost their way, orders were given that the ship 

great inlet, where the cruising is much safer if should be kept in sight on these excursions, 

not always so profitable. Occasionally, when that not less than two white men should be 

some exceptionally good ice-master is in charge in a party, and that an Eskimo must be with 

of a whaler he dashes into the better fishing- every party going more than a mile from the 

grounds for a short cruise; another less skilful, vessel. 

lured by the brighter prospects, or discouraged The ship lay in a large bay, at the upper 

by a poor catch outside, enters the inlet, and end of the " Welcome," and her black masts 

either reaps a rich harvest of oil and bone, or and hull against the white snow of the ice-field 

wrecks his vessel. Or he may even escape, could easily be seen many miles away from 

after an imprisonment in the grip of the mer- the high shores of the frozen harbor, 
ciless ice-fetters for a year or two longer than But to one member of the crew were these 

he had intended to stay. rules, forbidding the sailors to go ashore singly, 

Such was the fate of the good ship " Glad- particularly disagreeable ; for this young man, 

iator," from a well-known whaling i)ort in though a common sailor in the forecastle, was 

southeastern Massachusetts. She sailed to the a man of some education, and had found his 

northernmost end of the " Welcome," as the pleasantest recreation in long solitary strolls, far 

whalers call it, and, after a most profitable away from all signs of life. Feeling that he 

catch of " bowheads," had the ill-fortune to was superior to those around him, especially to 



A DASH WITH DOGS FOR LIFE OR DEATH. 



the savages, in all qualities he valued, he in- 
ferred that he must be at least their equal in 
other respects. He therefore disliked to have 
dull savages sent with him as guides to show 
him the way home lest he should be lost on any 
of his rambles. So he disregarded the orders 
that had been issued for his own good. 

One evening, in the early spring of the 
second vear's imprisonment, this young sailor 
was missed from the ship's crew at a time when 
all were usually aboard: he was missed at 
supper-time. 

Although from the meager description I have 
given of him it might be inferred that he was 
not popular, yet, though he had enjoyed his 
lonely tramps till the orders cut them short, no 
one was more jovial than he when the crew 
gathered in the forecastle of the vessel. Indeed, 
his good nature had made him ver\' popular. 
Consequendy there was no little enthusiasm 
shown in the search that followed. It was 
so near night that Uttle search was possible 
before darkness would settle down, a darkness 
so dense that nothing could be done. A large 
lamp was swung from the masthead to guide 
the wanderer home, for it was believed that 
he could hardly be beyond sight of its rays, 
and it was hoped that he would return before 
morning. 

A heavy fog came down about midnight, a 
fog so dense that the lantern's rays cut but a 
few vards through its heavy mist. Worst of 
all, the morning saw no break in this thick 
mist. It was thought that all search must be 
fruitless, since the man was not likely to be 
within the hmited space that could be covered 
by the voices of the searchers, or the noise of 
their firearms. The danger most feared in this 
part of the arctic regions was a pack of the 
great polar wolves, for they sometimes band to- 
gether and attack a traveler who is not well 
armed. Even if unmolested, a lost wanderer 
might even starve or freeze to death. 

As early as daylight would permit, a number 
of Eskimos were put on his track with orders to 
trail him down and rescue him alive, or to bring 
back his body. Many parties were sent in 
different directions and urged to do their best 
to find the lost man. Then every one anxiously 
awaited their return. 



The prospect seemed unpromising. The 
night had been cold enough to freeze a person 
who should rest too long ; and if the unfortu- 
nate man had kept walking (unless he had gone 
in a circle, or to and fro), it would make a long 
search for the Eskimo — a search that might not 
be completed by nightfall. 

About five o'clock in the afternoon, an hour 
before dark, the weather turned colder and the 
fog lifted, revealing the shores of the whole 
great bay. The mate of the ship, telescope in 
hand, ascended to the '■ crow's-nest," the look- 
out on the masthead, used when cruising in 
search of whales, and he scanned the country- 
all around as closely as possible. A few of the 
searching-parties were made out and reported 
to those standing below on the ice. Then 
what appeared to be the figure of a single man 
was seen on the shore directly across the wide 
bav, some ten miles distant. 

A keen-eyed Eskimo was called up from 
the throng to verify the mate's discover)-. The 
dark spot they saw was at that moment won- 
derfully Uke a man sitting on the snow of the 
hillside, and in a few moments, as the mate had 
observed when he first saw it. it was mo\-ing. 

The figure was closely watched. In a min- 
ute or two the black spot elongated and moved 
down to the shore-line; and the native ob- 
server had no hesitation in announcing in loud 
tones to those below that the figure was that of 
a white man. 

•• Kihi-Ioon-a/i : Kod-loon-ah : (White man! 
W hite man ! V he yelled, in a voice that sent 
the other Eskimos flying in ever>- direction. As 
the only other persons absent since morning were 
the Eskimo search-parties, this figure could be 
none other than the lost sailor. 

Many Eskimos were looking for the absent 
man, but ver\' few of them had taken their dogs 
and sledges, as it was easier to follow a trail on 
foot ; and, as a consequence, nearly all the dogs 
were scattered around through the snow-village 
near the ships, and the best sledges were lean- 
ing against the snow-houses. In halt an hour 
it would be so dark that they could do little, 
and the missing man must be reached before 
that time. Instantly orders were given to 
bring together all the best dogs of the village 
with their harness on, while four or five men 



A DASH WITH DOGS FOR LIFE OR DEATH; 



[Nov. 




^»^ '^'■*C, 



hastily iced the runners of one of the best a short hard pull has to be made, but never in 
sledges. Twenty dogs to a single sledge is the history of that region had a double team of 
about the greatest number ever used by these perhaps forty fine dogs been known, and espe- 
natives, and this large number is uncommon, cially to draw only an unloaded sledge ! 

It seemed impossible to 
foretell how rapidly the 
swift dogs would go with 
that mere feather of a light 
sledge fastened behind them. 
It would be like fastening 
two huge locomotives to a 
hand-car and turning on all 
steam. The sledge was kept 
turned upside-down to pre- 
vent the dogs from making 
a bolt forward, which they 
are prone to do when first 
hitched, whenever anything 
ahead attracts their atten- 
tion ; and, to assist the drivers 
in this restraint of their ani- 
mals, a great circle of sailors, 
and Eskimo men, women, 
and children formed in front 
of the teams. The best driver 
of the village turned the 
iced sledge over carefully 
and took his position on the 
right side of the slats, about 
vy the middle of the sledge's 
^ ,^>v. length, stretched out with his 

l) feet to the rear. His com- 

panion driver took a similar 
position on the left side. 

eight or nine being the usual team. This team, The best drivers can use the whip as well in 
however, increased to a score of dogs before the left as in the right hand. These whips are 
it was really known how strong it had grown, very long, the lash often being fifteen to twenty 
and there were yet some twenty in harness in feet in length. A strong lashing of seal thongs, 
the hands of the men, Avomen, and boys who woven diagonally across the slats, gave the dog- 
had scurried around and picked them up, and drivers something to hold on by in their peril- 
were now waiting to have them hitched to the ous flight across the ice-fields and hummocks 
sledge. to the other side of the bay. 

Fortunately, the very best dog-driver of the Over the front of the sledge lay one of the 
village was present, and, having made a long drivers with a sharp knife in his hand. It was 
leading-line of strong sledge-lashing, reaching his duty to cut the trace of any dog that should 
from the sledge ten or twelve feet beyond the fall, or of any whose harness was entangled in a 
team already hitched, he fastened on a new and projecting hummock of ice, for in such a wild 
second team of twenty dogs. This " doubling flight there would be no time to unharness it, 
of teams " is not very unusual whenever two and it would be dragged to death before the 
or more sledges are together on a journey and sledge could be stopped. In foct it was very 




HARNESSING THE DOGS. 



A DASH WITH DOGS FOR LIFE OR DEATH. 



doubtful whether such a team going at a wild, 
excited gait could be stopped at all until it had 
run some five or six miles, enough to take some 
of the ardor out of the high-spirited animals. 

When all was ready, the principal dog-driver 
gave a signal to the crowd in front of his team, 
and from the center they parted in both ways to 
the sides, the dogs jumped on their feet at the 
well-known warning sound, and started at a trot, 
which, with a few cuts from the gandet of 
whij)S they had Id run, aided by those of the 
drivers, soon broke into a run, and then the 
relief-party whisked out of sight like a rocket. 

Its further movements could be seen and re- 
ported only from the masthead. The race for 
life or death was begun, and the enemy to con- 
tend against was the approaching darkness. 
Away went the sledge, bounding from the crest 
of one snow-ridge to that of another, with not 



r^ 



would have ripped the covering, or shoe of ice, 
from the sledge-runners, and materially lessened 
their rapid gait. 

Anxiously the return of the party was awaited, 
lor it was a long distance to go in the short 
time before darkness. It was nearly two hours 
before they returned, and great was the rejoic- 
ing of the crew at seeing the lost sailor with 
them — a rejoicing only exceeded by his own. 

The return had been made very leisurely com- 
pared with the splendid dash of ten miles out. 

The width of the channel was well known 
from accurate surveys. Of course there was 
much curiosity to ascertain what part of the 
time had been consumed in reaching the lost 
man, and fortunately he had noted the time by 
his watch when he first heard the clamor and 
clatter of the approaching team and urging 
tlrivers — for in his terrible anxiety he was con- 




••A«AV WI-.N I lue SLEIXiK, UUt'NUlM; FKDM THE i KEST OK ONK SNOW-RIDT.K TO THAI <'l ANOlMtK 

a sign of sledge-track between, except on a few stantly counting the rapidly receiling minutes 

long, almost level stretches. In a few seconds as darkness ai)pniached. Careful calculations 

more it had gone so far thai, even from the mast- showeil that the ilash of ten miles was made in 

head, only its general movements could be noted, twenty-two minutes and a half! — the fastest 

Meanwhile the ilrivers were alert to avoid strik- recordeil long run with dogs and sledge in 

ing small projecting hummocks of ice. which the polar regions. 





IIBK 'iSefl-FiGflPi 



By C 



Of the many who have read 
and enjoyed Lord Tennyson's 
noble ballad of " The Re- 
venge," probably few know 
much about the singular little 
group of islands, lying well out in the North 
Atlantic almost eight hundred miles from Por- 
tugal, off which the famous fight celebrated by 
the Laureate took place. 

Nothing certain was known about the islands 
until, about the middle of the fifteenth cen- 
tury, an honest Flemish merchant, hard pressed 
by stress of weather, took refuge under the lee 
of their rocky and inhospitable coasts. 

Tall, conical peaks of volcanic origin, and 
wooded almost to the summits ; high table- 
lands covered with trees, shrubs, and tangled 
undergrowth, and cloven at intervals by tre- 
mendous ravines, down which the mountain- 
torrents fling themselves foaming into the sea ; 
a coast rising everywhere into giant j^reci- 
pices characterize these islands, and, as a final 
touch to the weirdness of the scene, there is no 
sound or sight of living thing except the hawks. 




creatures as wild as the 
islands, that wheel and 
hover over the clifts, and 
now and then dart like 
lightning into the sea after fish. 

It is from these birds that the islands derive 
their name, the Portuguese word for hawk being 
a(or (plural adores) ; but the English naviga- 
tors of the time called the group the " Western 
Isles " ; and doubtless, before the discovery of 
America, it must have appeared to them situ- 
ated fiir toward the mysterious realms of the 
setting sun. 

Our worthy Fleming, returning safely to Lis- 
bon, whither he was bound, reported his dis- 
covery to the Portuguese court, which, with 
commendable enterprise, forthwith despatched 
a navigator, Cabral, to make inquiries. In this 
way the island of St. Mary's was discovered, 
in 1432, but it was not till a quarter of a cen- 
tury later that the position of the whole group 
was ascertained. The finding of the Azores, 
however, was a trifle compared with the mag- 
nificent discovery of America sixty years later, 



THE SEA-FIGHT OFF THE AZORES. 9 

and there is little wonder that from that time a hold on the country, settled fifteen other men 

mania for voyaging and for colonization began on the spot, with plenty of arms, and provisions 

to spread among the more adventurous spirits for two years, 

of Europe. There was a good deal of the old viking 

This feehng, originating among the Spaniards spirit in Grenville; he came of the same famous 
and Portuguese, — especially the latter, who were western stock that produced Sir Walter Raleigh, 
most bold and successful navigators, — thence his near relative, and many another skilful sea- 
by degrees extended to other maritime countries, man and dauntless explorer. 
until, in 1584, nearly a century afterward, we ^Ve next hear of Grenville, in 1591, as vice- 
find two English captains, Philip Amadas and admiral under Lord Thomas Howard of a fleet 
Arthur Barlowe, making the first voyage to which had been sent out to intercept the Span- 
Virginia. On their return, they gave such a ish treasure-ships expected home in the autumn 
glowing description of the place to Sir Walter of that year. On the 31st of .August, the little 
Raleigh that the gallant sailor fitted out four English squadron rode at anchor olT Flores, the 
vessels on his own account and put them in most westerly island of the Azores. Things 
charge of his cousin. Sir Richard Grenville, bid- had not been going very well with them. Many 
ding liiin proceed to the favored land, and of the sailors were down with coast-fever, so that 
there found an English colony. of the " Bonaventure's" crew not enough re- 

Now, Sir Richard was the man to do a thing mained to handle the mainsail, and ninety men 

thoroughly. He made straight for Porto Rico belonging to the " Revenge" were on the sick 

with his small .stjuadron ; called at Hispaniola, list. The remainder of the fleet was in little 

where he had a friendly interview with the better case, and, to make matters worse, they 

Spanish governor and also with a friar, and had run short of water and provisions, and the 

sailed thence to Florida, exploring in a flat- vessels were light for want of ballast. The 

bottomed boat a totally unknown river for more squadron consisted of the Revenge, Grenville's 

than fifty miles. He soon planted his colony ship, the " Defiance," which bore the flag of 

securely, as he thought, and returned to Eng- Admiral Lord Thomas Howard, the '"Lion," the 

land, picking up a few unconsidered trifles Bonaventure, the '■ Foresight," and two small 

in the way of Si)anish galleons on his voyage provision-ships. 

home. The daring manner in which one of The bright sun of the Azores illuminated a 

these vessels was captured is a good illustration bustling scene, on that August afternoon just 

of (irenville's reckless courage. He and his three hundred years ago. Boats laden with 

men boarded her by means of a raft made out ballast and fresh jirovisions were busily ])lying 

of sea-chests, which fell to pieces as soon as it between the vessels and the shore. More than 

touched the Spaniard's side. Sir Richard was half the crews were ashore, haggling and chaf- 

then forty-five years of age, but his impetuous fering with the inhabitants in broken Spanish, 

valor was as little tempered by discretion as and thereby giving rise to altercations which 

when, a fiery youth of sixteen, he volunteered ended as often as not in blows — Jack being 

for the German army, and served through a very apt to cut short a tedious bargain. Now 

whole camjjaign against the Turks. and then Admiral Howaril or \'ice-.\ilmiral 

The Virginian colony did not prosper, and Cirenville woukl sweep the horizon with anxious 

Sir Richard, making a secontl voyage out there glances, for the Spanish fleet was surmised to 

with three ship.s, to succor the men he iiad leU be in the neighborhood, and its force, though 

behind, found to his dismay that all trace of the unknown, was likely to be consi<lerable. Nothing 

little settlement had disa])peared. The ci)lo- was to be seen, however, but the i loudless sky 

nists, in lact, becoming alarmed by the inireasing an<l a sea, calm for the .\tlantic, whereon the 

swarms of savages that surrounded liiem, had blue waves rose and fell playfully, breaking here 

been only too glad to get a passage home by an and there into long white lines of foam, 

earlier ship. This was certainly disappointing ; After such a look around, we can imagine Sir 

but Grenville, who was determined to retain a Richard Grenville. whose vessel lay nearest the 



lO 



THE SEA-FIGHT OFF THE AZORES. 



[Nov. 



shore, calling out to his " lazy loons " to bestir 
themselves if they did not wish to see the inside 
of a Spanish prison. 

Presently a cry announced a vessel in sight, 
and a bark was made out running rapidly for 
the shore under a press of canvas. 

She turned out to be Captain Middleton's 
ship, a fast boat which, trusting to the lightness 
of her heels, had hung for several days on the 
skirts of the Spanish fleet with the object of dis- 
covering whither it was bound. Ascertaining 
at last beyond a doubt that the " Dons" were 
making for the Azores, Middleton had clapped 
on all sail and made what speed he might for 
Flores to acquaint Lord Thomas Howard of his 
danger. Try as he might, however, he could 
not quite shake off the Spanish ships, and they 
were even now upon his track, fifty-three of 
them, heavily armed and crowded with infantry. 

The truth of the starding intelligence he 
brought was soon demonstrated; for he had 
barely deUvered his tidings before the top-gal- 
lant sails of the Spanish van were descried 
rising slowly above the horizon. 

Soon ship after ship came in sight till the dis- 
tant sea began to be dotted with white sails, and 
every moment their numbers increased. More 
threatening still, another squadron which had 
stood in-shore, and whose approach had hitherto 
been hidden by a bend of the coast, now sud- 
denly appeared within half-an-hour's sail. 

It was time to act, and that promptly. To en- 
gage an armada of fifty-three sail with a mi- 
nute fleet of six ships, two being but of small size 
and all light in ballast and short of hands, would 
have been madness. The English admiral saw 
plainly that his duty was to preserve, if possible, 
the ships and lives intrusted to him, and not to 
sacrifice them in an unequal struggle which 
could have but one termination. 

The whole Spanish fleet was now in sight, 
stretching far along the horizon, and minutes 
became precious. The boatswains' shrill whistles 
piped from the English decks, bringing the sail- 
ors crowding down to the beaches, whence 
they were hurried on board their respective 
vessels. Sail was made in haste, and the little 
fleet stood out to sea, some of the ships having 
to slip their cables, owing to the pressure of 
time. Howard's one chance of escape was to 



get to windward of the Spaniards, and this, 
thanks to dexterous seamanship, he succeeded 
in doing, in spite of all the manoeuvers of his 
foes. 

One vessel, however, still lay off the land 
neglecting to avail herself of the single chance 
of safety. This was Sir Richard GrenviUe's ship, 
the Revenge. Many of her crew lay sick ashore, 
and till these were safe Grenville refused to 
budge an inch for all the Dons in Spain. Not 
a man of his, he said, should be left behind to 
endure the horrors of a Spanish prison. By the 
time the last of the sick had been got on board, 
the Spanish squadron lay well on the weather- 
bow. When at length the Revenge began to 
move through the water it became clear to all 
on board that she could escape only by a miracle. 
The one course which oftered a prospect of suc- 
cess, as the master pointed out, was to tack 
right about and run before the wind showing a 
clean pair of heels to the Spaniards. But Gren- 
viUe's blood was up, and, like a wild animal when 
baited too closely, he turned at bay. " He utterly 
refused to fly from the enemy, alleging that he 
would rather die than dishonor himself, his 
country, and Her Majesty's ship, and persuading 
his companions that he would pass through the 
two squadrons in despite of them, and compel 
the Spaniards to give way." 

So the Revenge stood right on toward the 
foe, and soon came up with the foremost galleon 
of the Spanish fleet, as she careened along under 
her heavy top-hamper and crushed the water 
into foam beneath her huge bows. The Revenge, 
however, being very skilfully handled, compeUed 
the bulky galleon to luff up and faU under her 
lee, and served the next, and the next, in the 
same way. 

Lord Thomas Howard and the rest, hovering 
to windward, and regarding these proceedings 
with intense anxiety, began to think that the 
daring vice-admiral would escape after all. 

But it was not to be. 

About three o'clock in the afternoon, the great 
" San Phihp," a vessel of some fifteen hundred 
tons, ran right up to the Httle Revenge, and, 
towering above the English ship, took the wind 
out of her sails and brought her to a standstill. 
The San PhiHp's decks were crowded with eight 
hundred infantrymen, and her three tiers of guns 



I89I.] 



THE SEA-FIGHT OFF THE AZORES. 



I I 



yawned threateningly. As she drove down upon 
the Revenge, her hull burst into a sheet of flame, 
a fierce musketry-fire was kept up all along her 
poop-deck, and a hurricane of lead swept across 
the English ship. Through the rolling smoke, 
the Spanish soldiers could be seen dropping 
down in numbers upon the Revenge's deck, 
and making no doubt of capturing her out of 
hand. Sir Richard had only a hundred well 
men on board with him, but each of these was, 
like himself, a hero. The Spanish soldiers who 
boarded were repulsed; and suddenly letting 
fly with his whole lower tier of guns Grenville 
completely riddled the San Philip's hull. The 
English cannon were loaded with cross-bar shot, 
and the eflfect of this point-blank discharge must 
have been tremendous, for the huge Spaniard 
actually sheered off", '• utterly misliking her first 
entertainment." No sooner, however, had the 
San Philip been temporarily disposed of than 
four other ships ran up, and began to pour their 
men upon the decks of the Revenge. 

What followed seems almost incredible. It 
must be remembered that the Spanish infantry 
were at that time considered the finest in Europe. 
They had overrun Italy, conquered the Nether- 
lands, and penetrated into the heart of South 
America. It was these redoubtable soldiers who 
scrambled by hundreds down the sides and 
dropped from the rigging of their ships upon 
the beleaguered decks of the Revenge. Sir 
Richard bore himself like a paladin, nor were his 
men a whit unworthy of him. Again and again 
the boarding- parties were repulsed. Cirenville 
and his crew fought as men have seldom done 
before or since. The Revenge was girdled con- 
stantly by a belt of flame as she poured her shot 
into the enemies on either side of her, receiving 
in turn their broadsides and the spattering mus- 
ketry-fire which rained down from their tlecks 
and rigging. Eventually the English ship shook 
herself clear of all her foes. Shot-torn as she 
was, she had given still worse than she had re- 
ceived, and the four great Si)aniards hauled oft", 
having for the time no wish for the fiirht. 

Then for a while there was a brief breathing- 
time, welcome indeed to men who hail fought 
without ceasing for nearly three hours beneath 
the warm rays of a semi-tropical sun. They lay 
panting on the decks, completely exhausted. 



Not a few took the opponunity of caring for 
and binding up their wounds, and Sir Richard 
himself, having been hit by a shot, paid a hastv 
visit to the surgeon. 

Suddenly a hearty English cheer rang over 
the waters to leeward of them. Hope bright- 
ened in the men's eyes, and they looked around 
eagerly. Perhaps Howard had changed his 
mind, after all, and returned, resolved at all risks 
to help the Revenge in her sore strait. Alas, 
no I It was only one of the little provision-ships 
commanded by George Noble of London, who, 
moved by the sight of this unequal struggle, 
determined that he, at all events, would stand 
by Sir Richard to the last, and so placed him- 
self under his orders. But the vice-admiral 
refused to take advantage of this useless self- 
devotion. " Save yourself," he replied charac- 
teristically, " and leave me to my fortune." So 
plucky George Noble of London drew off" with 
a sigh, and had his work cut out for him to run 
successfully the gantlet of the Spaniards. 

The short interval of precious rest was now 
well-nigh over. From all sides the Seville 
galleons were bearing down upon the English 
ship, looking, as they did so, like huge white 
birds winging toward their prey. The sun, 
broadening toward its descent, made a glory 
of the western sea, and touched with fire the 
white sails of the advancing Spaniards. Down 
came the Dons again, wrapped in smoke ami 
flame, amid the thunder of their cannon. Fresh 
ships were these, eager for the glory of captur- 
ing this obstinate Englishman, who fought, they 
said, as if he were possessed by a demon. Sir 
Richard's voice rang trumpet-like through his 
ship. His men sprang to their guns, and once 
more the fierce struggle began amid the peaceful 
splendors of the sunset, and continued beneath 
the stars of the summer night. 

Strive as they might, the Spanish galleonscould 
not take this single small English ship which lay 
hemmeil in by their fleet and unable to escape 
them. In vain they plied her with broadsides 
and volleys of musketry, and pouretl their sol- 
diery upon her decks. 

Ship after ship hauled oft" from the sides 
of the Revenge ; others immediately took their 
places, and the uneciual struggle was kept up far 
into the night. .\n hour before midnight Sir 



12 



THE SEA-FIGHT OFF THE AZORES. 



[Nov. 




"once more the fierce struggle began. 



Richard received a shot in the body. Going 
below to have his wound dressed, he was hit in 
the head by another musket-ball, while the sur- 
geon in attendance fell by his side. Sir Richard, 
though sorely wounded, still struggled on deck, 
and directed his men. 

Toward morning the fight began to slacken. 



The Spanish ships were fairly beaten off, and 
hung round sullenly, watching their opportunity, 
like hounds about a wounded boar. But the Re- 
venge's bolt was shot, had they but known it. 
Her power had given out, more than half her 
crew were killed or disabled, and her com- 
mander himself lay mortally wounded. Sir 



iSgi.] THE SEA-Fir.HT OFF THE AZORES. I3 

Richard with this one small ship had engaged ing the captain, the master, and the master- 

the whole force of the Spanish fleet for over gunner. Now this same master-gunner was a 

t\\ elve hours. According to Raleigh's compu- man after Sir Richard's own heart, a determined 

tation, the Revenge had received eight hundred sea-dog and resolute to follow his commander 

shot of artillery besides sustaining numerous wherever he might lead, 

assaults, and still remained unconquered. In a few words Sir Richard explained to his 

That such a thing should have been possible men the plan he jjroposed to follow. It was 

is a proof of wild firing on the part of the Span- very simple : namely, to sink the ship and go 

iards; for the Revenge would have been to the bottom with it. This course at once 

shivered to splinters had the Spanish guns been commended itself to the master-gunner and 

properly directed. And the lofty sides of their received his cordial assent ; some others of the 

great galleons rendered it difficult to depress crew also supported it — less heartily. But the 

their cannon low enough to strike effectively captain, the ship-master, and the rest were of 

the hulls of the smaller English ships. another mind altogether. 

Jacob Wheddon, of the provision-ship " Pil- "After such a fight," said they, "the Span- 
grim," who had hung about all night with his iards would certainly give quarter, and those 
vessel in the vague hope of assisting Grenville, who were yet alive might be preserved to fight 
or at least of ascertaining his fate, saw a singu- again for their queen and country." 
lar spectacle as the sun rose that morning. " Nay," said Sir Richard, " the Spaniards 
There lay the Revenge rising and falling in- shall never have the glor)' of taking this ship, 
ertly on the Atlantic swell. Not a stick was seeing that we have so long and so valiantly 
standing aboard her. Her bulwarks were shot defended ourselves." 

away, leaving the decks flush with the sea. To this speech the extremely practical an- 
Around her in a wide circle lay the Spanish ships, swer was made that the ship had six feet of 
some of them bearing evident marks of rough water in her hold, that .she had been hulled 
handling, and none showing any disposition to three times below the water-line, and that to 
attack the Revenge, helpless log though she move her was impossible, for at the least 
seemed. Two of their number had been sunk disturbance she would founder, 
by (Irenville's fire, and the rest were quite un- Sir Richard, however, would listen to none 
certain what power of resistance the English of these arguments, and in this he was backed 
vessel still possessed, or when those dogged is- up by the master-gunner. While the wrangle 
landers would choose to consider themselves was going on, the ship-master slipped away 
beaten. Wheddon had no time to make a closer and got himself conveyeil on board the Span- 
examination, for the Spaniards were after him in ish admiral's vessel. He found the admiral, 
a trice, and he was obliged to double like a hare Don .Alonso Bassan, verv loath to meddle fur- 
to escape. ther with Clrenville, and convinced that the 

The sick men, for whose sake Grenville had arrival of the first Spaniard on board the Re- 
fought this desperate battle, meanwhile lay below venge would be a signal for Sir Richard to blow 
in the hold of the Revenge. into the air the ship anil all it contained. The 

Sir Richard, sitting desperately wounded on master at once took advantage of the admiral's 

deck, looked around him and reflected. The ignorance of Grenville's resources, and in the 

gunpowder liad given out he knew, and to end, owing to the mingled fear and admiration 

fight the ship longer was impossible; running the Spaniards entertained for Grenville, and their 

away, too, in the absence of spars and masts was desire to .secure his person, the English got very 

ecjually out of the (picstion. He was aware also favorable terms. The lives of all were spared, a 

that the Spaniards were held in check only by passage to l-'ngland was granted them, and those 

their dread of him, and that any moment one onlv who could aftbrd it were to pay ransom, 

might stand in and deliver her fire, thereby With this gootl news, the master hastened 

discovering his helplessness. He summoned bark to the Revenge, and no sooner did the 

arounil him the remnant of his people, includ- men become aware of the terms oftered them 



H 



THE SEA-FIGHT OFF THE AZORES. 



than the few who had supported Grenville 
deserted to his opponents, so that he was left 
without a follower except the master-gunner. 
Soon many of the Spanish boats had come 
alongside, and the men, not knowing what Sir 
Richard might be at, and afraid of stopping on 
board with him, slipped over the side one by 
one, and were conveyed to the Spanish fleet. 

Finding himself completely deserted, Sir 
Richard at last gave way and allowed himself 
to be transported from the Revenge. He was 
treated with humanity by the Spaniards, who 
entertained the highest admiration for his cour- 
age, but he expired some three days after- 
ward. His last words are said to have been : 
" Here die I, Richard Grenville, with a joyful 
and quiet mind ; for that I have ended my life 
as a true soldier ought to do." 

Most of the English prisoners reached their 



native land in safety, and it is from their narra- 
tives that the original account of the action was 
compiled. 

Grenville has been blamed for his reckless- 
ness, but it is difticult to enter fully into the 
feelings of his time and so get at the exact 
motives that influenced him. No doubt had he 
lived in our own days his valor would scarcely 
be held to have excused his rashness. But in 
Sir Richard's mind life was a feather weighed 
against his ideas of honor. 

Freebooters they may have been, those dar- 
ing sailors of the days of " Queen Bess," with a 
hound-like scent for Spanish treasure-ships and 
caring little for the blood-stains on the doub- 
loons they captured. But they hved in rough 
times. And as an example of courage pure and 
simple, this fight ofl" the Azores is not excelled 
by any action in the annals of the British navy. 




WINTER TREES. 



By Mrs M. F. Butts. 



Who finds the trees of winter bleak 
Has not the poet's sight. 
They bear gold sunrise fruit at dawn, 
And silver stars at night. 



All day they prop the lowering clouds. 
No respite do they ask 
And they sing in voices deep and wild, 
Like giants at a task. 



TOM PAULDINXx. 

{.4 Tale of Treasure Trme in the Streets of New Vori.) 



By Brander Matthews. 



This is a story of huricd treasure in the streets of New York, and this first chapter describes the locality where 
Tom Tauliling began the search. .\ny reader who has conscientious objections to descriptions niav skip this, and 
begin the story with the ne.xt chapter. Later he can come back to this if he then sees the need of it. — B. M. 

from neglect. Though a place may have been 
abandoned for a century, sooner or later some 



Chapter I. 

THE SCENE OF THE STORY, 




one will find it out again. 



Though it may 



X every great have been left on one side during the forced 
city there are march of improvement, sooner or later some one 
unexplored will see its advantages, and will make them plain, 
fastnesses as At the time of this storv, when our hero, voung 
little known to Tom Paulding, set forth upon his quest for 
the world at buried treasure, in the ninth decade of the nine- 
large as is the teenth century, the quarter of New York where 
heart of the he lived, and where he sought what had been 
Dark Conti- lost more than a hundred years before, was 
nent. Xow passing through a period of transition. This 
and again it iiart of New York lies above Central Park, 
happens that a smlden turn in the tide of busi- back of Momingside Park and beside the 
ness or of fa.shion brings into view these hitherto Hudson River, where the Riverside drive 
unexplored regions. Then there begins at stretches itself out for two miles and more 
once a struggle between the old and the new, along the brow of the wooded hill, 
between the conditions which obtained when This portion of the city has much natural 
that part of the city was ignored, and those beauty and not a little historic interest. Just 
which prevail now that it has been brought beyond the rocky terrace of Momingside Park 
to the knowledge of men. The struggle is was fought the battle of Harlem Plains on 
sharj), for a while; but the end is inevitable. September i6, 1776. Then it was that the 
The old cannot withstand the new ; and in British troops, having occupied the lower part 
a brief space of time the unknown region of the island, assaulted the Continental forces, 
wakes uj), and there is a fresh life in all its and were beaten back. For days thereafter, 
streets ; there is a tearing down, and there is Ceneral \\'ashington had his headquarters 
a building up; and in a few months the place within a mile or two of the spot where Cen- 
cea.ses to be old, although it has not yet be- eral Grant now lies buried, 
come new. In the fourscore years which elapsed be- 
I )uring this state of transition there are many tween the retirement of Wa.shington from the 
curious changes ; and a pair of sharp eyes can presidency of these United States ami the elec- 
see many curious things. tion of Grant to that exalted position, the part 
In the Island of Manhattan, there is more of Manhattan Island where Tom Paulding 
than one undiscovered country of this kintl ; lived, and where his father, and his grandfather, 
and in a city as active and as restless as New and his great-gramlfather had lived before him. 
York it is only a <|uestion of time hi)w soon changed very little. In 1876 it seemed almost 
such a (juarter shall be discovered, and rescued as remote from the centers of trade and of 



i6 



TOM PAULDING. 



[Nov. 



fashion as it had been in 1776. Although it 
was not out of town, it was beyond the beaten 
track of traffic. Just before the Revolution, 
and immediately after it, handsome country- 
seats had been built here and there on the 
heights overlooking the Hudson. And here 
and there, on the rocky knobs that thrust them- 
selves up through the soil, squatters had since 
set up their little wooden shanties, increasing in 
number as the edges of the city spread out 
nearer and nearer. 

In time the Riverside drive was laid out 
along the river ; and then the transformation 
began. Day by day there were changes, and 
year by year the neighborhood was hardly 
recognizable. 

Here had been one of the few spots on 
Manhattan Island where nature was allowed to 
run wild and to do as she thought best, unim- 
peded by man ; and by great good fortune, the 
advancing tide of city life was not allowed to 
overwhelm altogether the natural beauty of the 
region. The irregularities of the surface were 
planed over, it is true; streets were cut through 
the walls of rock which then arose in jagged 
cliffs high above the sidewalks on both sides, 
and avenues were carried across sunken mead- 
ows, leaving deep, wide hollows where the 
winter snows collected. 

Around the shanties which were perched 
upon the rocks sheer above the new streets, 
goats browsed on the scanty herbage ; and 
down in the hollows which lay below the level 
of the same thoroughfares, geese swam about 
placidly, and squawked when a passing boy 
was carelessly cruel enough to throw a stone at 
the peaceful flock. 

It is a region of contrasts as it is a time of 
transition. In one block can be seen the old 
orchard which girt about one of the handsome 
country-places built here early in the century ; 
and in the next can be seen the frames of a 
market-gardener, who is raising lettuce under 
glass, on ground which the enterprising builder 
may demand any day. The patched and 
weather-stained shanty of the market-gardener 
may l)e within the shadow of a new marble 
mansion with its jjlate-glass conservatory. An 
old wooden house with a Grecian portico is 
torn down to make room for a tall flat, stretch- 



ing itself seven stories high, with accommo- 
dation for a dozen families at least. The 
builder is constantly at work. The insignificant 
whistle of his engine announces the morning ; 
and the dull report of blasting is of daily fre- 
quency. 

With its many possibilities, this is perhaps the 
part of New York where a boy can find the 
most wholesome fun. He is in the city, al- 
though he has many of the privileges of the 
country. He can walk under trees and climb 
hills ; and yet he is not beyond the delights of 
the town. There are long slopes down which 
he may coast in winter ; and there are as yet 
many vacant lots where he may play ball in 
summer. There is the Morningside Park with 
its towering battlements, just the place for a 
sham fight. There is the Riverside Park with 
its broad terrace extending nearly three miles 
along the river front, and with its strip of 
woodland sloping steeply to the railroad track 
by the river. 

It is a place with nearly every advantage that 
a boy can wish. For one thing, there is unceas- 
ing variety. If he takes a walk by the parapet 
of the Riverside, the freight-trains on the rail- 
road below rush past fiercely, and are so long 
that the engine will be quite out of sight before 
the caboose at the end comes into view. From 
the brow of the hill the moving panorama of the 
Hudson unrolls itself before him ; above are the 
Palisades rising sheer from the water's edge and 
crowned with verdure ; opposite is Weehawken, 
and just below are the Elysian Fields, now sadly 
shorn of their green beauty. No two views of 
the river are ever alike, except possibly in win- 
ter when the stream may freeze over. In the 
summer there is an incessant change; yachts 
tack across against the breeze ; immense tows 
of canal-boats come down drawn by one broad 
and powerful steamboat, and pert little tugs 
puff their way up and down, here and there. 
The day-boats go up every morning and the 
night-boats follow them every evening. Excur- 
sions and picnic parties go by in double-decked 
l)arges, lashed together side by side, and gay 
with flags and music. Sometimes a swift steam- 
yacht speeds up stream to West Point, and 
sometimes a sloop loaded with brick from 
Haverstraw drifts down with the tide. 



iSgi.l 



TOM PAULDIxXG. 




17 

On land there is a change almost 
as incessant. Buildings are going up 
everywhere; shanties are being torn 
down ; and streets are being cut 
through here and filled up there, and 
paved, and torn up again to lay pipe, 
and repaired again, and torn up yet 
once more. There is a constant 
effort toward the completion of the 
Riverside Park, and of Morning- 
side Park but a few blocks be- 
yond it. There is also the new 
a(iueduct, bringing more water 
from the Croton hills to the 
host of dwellers in the city. 
When Tom Paulding first saw 
the men at work on this great 
undertaking, he little knew how 
necessary that water would one 
day be to him in his quest, or 
how the laborers who were lay- 
ing the gigantic pipes in deep 
trenches undergrouml would 
unwittingly lend him their aid. 



TYPICAL SKETCHES OF IPIM-R Nl-W YOKK. 

I'.ut there is no need to dally longer over this descrip- 
tion of the place where the young New Yorker lived who 
is to be the chief character of the story set forth in the 
following pages. It is time now to introduce Tom Pauld- 
ing himself; to show you what manner of boy he was ; to 
make you accpiainted with his friends and companions: 
to explain how it hajiiJened thai his micle returned home 
in lime to advise: and to lell how it was that he set out 
to find the treasure. What the fmal result of his (piest 
was will be fully shown in this narrative; but whether 
or not Tom Paulding was successful in his endeavor, every 
reader must de* ido for himself. 
Vol.. XIX. — 2. 




i8 



TOM PAULDING. 



[Nov, 



Chapter II. 



AROUND THE BONFIRE. 




N one of the 
side streets ex- 
tending east- 
ward from the 
Riverside Park, 
a dozen boys 
were gathered 
about a barrel, 
which had been 
raised on four 
stones. It was 
late in the after- 
noon of the 
Tuesday following the first Monday in No- 
vember; and the boys were about to exercise 
the immemorial privilege of young New York- 
ers on election night. Between the stones 
which supported the barrel were two or three 
crumpled newspapers and a heap of shavings. 
Within the wooden chimney of the barrel itself 
were the sides of a broken box, six or eight 
short boards, and such other combustible odds 
and ends as the boys had been able to get to- 
gether against the coming of the fiery holiday. 
The impromptu altar had been erected almost 
m the middle of the street; but as there was 
scarcely a house within a block on either side, 
and as few carriages or carts needed to come 
down that way, there was little danger that the 
bonfire of the " Black Band " would frighten any 
horses. 

When the shavings had been inspected, and 
he had made sure that the flames would be able 
to rise readily through the improvised flue, the 
boy who seemed to be the leader looked 
around and said, " Who 's got a match ? " 

" Here 's a whole box ! " cried little Jimmy 
Wigger, thrusting himself through the ring of 
youngsters ranged about the barrel. He was 
the smallest boy of all, and he was greatly 
pleased to be of service. 

" Are you going to set it off now. Cissy ? " a 
tall thin lad asked. 

" Well I am ! " answered the boy who had 
been making ready for the fire. " We said that 
we 'd start it up at five o'clock, did n't we ? " 
The speaker was a solidly built young fellow 



of about fourteen, with a round, good-natured 
face. His name was Marcus Cicero Smith ; his 
father always called him " Cicero," and among 
his playfellows and companions he was known 
as " Cissy," for short. 

A timid voice suggested, " What 's your 
hurry. Cissy ? Tom Paulding is n't here yet." 

This voice belonged to Harry Zachary, a 
slim boy of scant thirteen, shy in manner and 
hesitating in speech. He had light golden 
hair and light blue eyes. 

" If Tom Paulding 's late," rephed Cissy, as 
he stooped forward and set fire to the paper 
and shavings, " so much the worse for Tom, 
that 's all. He knows the appointed hour as 
well as we do." 

'• I 'd just like to know what is keeping Tom. 
He 's not often late," said the tall thin lad who 
had spoken before, and as he said it he twisted 
himself about, looking over his shoulders with 
a strange spiral movement. It was partly on 
account of this peculiar habit of self-contor- 
tion that he was generally addressed as " Cork- 
screw." But that nickname had been given 
also because of his extraordinary inquisitive- 
ness. His curiosity was unceasing and inordi- 
nate. It is to be recorded, moreover, that he 
had straight red hair, and that his thin legs 
were made more conspicuous by a large pair 
of boots, the tops of which rose above his 
knees. His real name was George William 
Lott. 

As the wood in the barrel kindled and blazed 
up, the boys heaped on more fuel from a pile 
outside their circle. While taking a broken 
board from the stack, little Jimmy Wigger 
looked up and saw a figure approaching. The 
street where they were assembled had been 
cut through high rocks which towered up on 
each side, irregular and jagged. Twilight had 
begun to settle down on the city, and in the 
hollow where the roadway ran between the 
broken crags there was little light but that of 
the bonfire. It was difficult to make out a 
stranger until he was close upon them. 

" Some one is coming ! " cried little Jimmy, 
glad that he had again been able to be useful. 

The approaching figure stood still at once. 

The group about the fire spread open, and 
Cissy careened forward a few feet. He had al- 



iSgi] 



TOiM PAULDING. 



19 



TiMil. 




The stranger also stood still, and made the 
expected answer with a flourish of its own : 



Auswoi'. 




ways a strange swing in his walk, not unlike the Tom Paulding unbuttoned his jacket and 
rolling gait of a sailor. took the lantern from his belt. There was at 

When he had swung ahead four or five paces once perceptible a strong odor of burnt var- 
he paused, and raising his fingers to his lips, he nish; but the circle of admiring boys did not 
gave a shrill whisde with a peculiar cadence: mind this. The possession of a dark lantern 

increased their admiration for its owner, who 
was a favorite, partly from his frank and pleas- 
ant manner, and partly because of his ingenuity 
in devising new sjiorts. It was Tom Paulding 
who had started the Black Band, a society of 
thirteen boys all solemnly bound to secrecv and 
to be faithful, one to another, whatever might 
befall. Cissy Smith, as the oldest of the thir- 
teen, had been elected captain, at Tom's sug- 
gestion, and Tom himself was lieutenant. 

" Is it lighted? " litde Jimmy Wigger asked, 
as he caught sight of a faint spot of light at 
the back of the dark lantern in Tom's hand. 
"Of course it is," Tom replied, and he turned 
the bull's-eye toward the rugged wall of rocks 
which arose at the side of the street, and pulled 
the slide. A faint disk of light appeared on 
the stones. 

" That 's bully I " said Harry Zachary, in his 
usual hesitating voice. '• I wish I had one ! " 

" What good is a dark lantern, anyhow ? " 
asked Corkscrew Lott, who was almost as 
envious as he was curious. '• What did you 
bring it out for? " 

" Well," Tom answered, '' I had a reason. 
We had n't agreed what the Black Band was 



" It 's Tom Paulding," said Harry Zachary. 

" I wonder what has made him so late," 
Corkscrew remarked. 

Cissy Smith took another step forward, and 
cried, " Who goes there ? " 

The new-comer also advanced a step, which 
brought him into the glare of the blazing barrel. 
He was seen to be a well-knit boy of barely four- 
teen, with dark brown eyes and curly black hair. 

To Cissy's challenge he answered in a clear 
voice, " A friend of the Black Band." 

" Advance, friend of the Black Band, and 
give the countersign and grip." 

Each of the two boys took three paces for- 
ward, and stood face to face. 

The new-comer bent forward and solemnly 
whispered in Cissy's ear the secret password 
of the Black Band, "Captain Kidd." 

With the same solemnity, Cissy whispered 
back, " As he sailed." Then he extended his 
right hand. 

Tom Paulding grasi)e(l this firmly in his own, 
slipping his little finger between Cissy's third 
and little fingers ; then he pressed the back of 
Cissy's hand three times with his own thumb. 

These proper formalities having been ob- 
served with due tlecorum, the boys released their 
grasp and walked together to the bonfire. 

"What made you so late, Tom?" asked 
Corkscrew. 

" My mother kept me while she finished a 
letter to my Uncle Dick that she wanteil me to a jimmy 's a sort of baby crowbar. Hut I made 
mail for her," Tom Paulding replied ; " and this out of an old broomstick I got from our 
besides I had to find my dark lantern." Katie. I whittled it down to the right shape 

" Have you got it here ? " saitl Cissy. at the end, and then 1 polished it ofi' with 

" Oh, do let me see it!" cried little Jimmy blacking and a shoe-brush. It does look like 
Wigger. iron, tloes n't it ? " 



to be this evening ; and I thought if we were 
burglars, for instance, it would be useful to 
have a dark lantern." 

" Hooray ! " said Cissy. " Let 's be burglars." 

There was a general cry of assent to this 
proposition. 

" A burglar always has a dark lantern," Tom 
went on, " and he 'most always has a jimmy — " 

" \\\-\]. where 's your jimmy ? " interrupted 
Lott. 

" Here it is," Tom answered, taking a dark 
stick from its place of concealment in the back 
of his jacket. " It ought to be iron, you know; 



20 



TOM PAULDING, 



[Nov. 



The jimmy was passed from hand to hand, 
and met with general approval. Even Cork- 
screw Lott had no fault to find with it. 

" We ought to have everything real burglars 
have, if we are going into the burgling busi- 
ness," added Tom. 

" If we are burglars," said Httle Jimmy Wig- 
ger, in a plaintive voice, " can't we begin burg- 
ling soon ? Because my aunt says I must be 
home by eight this evening, sure." 

" I said it was a mistake to let that baby into 



Now, if there was one thing which annoyed 
Tom more than another, it was that his hair 
was curly, " like a girl's " as he had said in 
disgust to his sister only that morning. And if 
there was any member of the Black Band to- 
ward whom he did not feel a brotherly cordial- 
ity, it Avas Lott. 

" Look here. Corkscrew," he said body, " you 
let my hair alone, or I '11 punch your head ! " 

" You had better not try it," returned Lott. 
"You could n't do it." 




"tO.M was IIKI) lO A STAKli, WITH HIS HANDS BEHIND HIM." (SKli NEXT I'AGH.) 



the Black Band," Corkscrew remarked ; " a 
pretty burglar he '11 make!" 

" Yes, I will ! " cried little Jimmy, sturdily ; 
" I '11 make as good a burglar as you any day ! " 

" I could tell you stories about burglars that 
would make your hair curl," said Harry Zach- 
ary, noticing that little Jimmy had shrunk back. 

"Then tell them to Tom Paulding," Lott 
cried; "he likes to have his hair curl. I be- 
lieve he puts it up in curl-papers ! " 



" We '11 see about that, if you say anything 
more against my hair ! " Tom replied. 

" I '11 say what I please," responded Corkscrew. 

By this time Tom had recovered his temper. 

" Say what you please," he answered, " and if it 
does n't please me, we '11 have it out. The sooner 
we do, the better; for I don't believe we can get 
through the winter without a fight, and I sha'n't 
be sorry to have it over." 

" Silence in the ranks," ordered the Captain 



iSgi.] 



TOM PAULDING. 



21 



of the Black Band, as he saw that Lott was 
ready to keep up the (luarrel. " Is it agreed 
that we are to be burglars ? " 

" No," answered Corkscrew ciuickly, before 
any of the others could speak. " We have n't 
got all the things. Let 's be Indians on the 
war-path. We 've got a bully fire now, and it 's 
the only night we can have it. So we can play 
we 've a captive, and we can burn him at the 
stake, and have a scalp-dance around the barrel." 
"That 's a good idea," Harry Zachary agreed. 
" They won't let us have a bonfire except on 
election night." 

" That 's so," Cissy admitted. 
Lott saw his advantage and seized it promptly. 
" We can be burglars any time," he cried, " if 
we want to. But to-night 's the best time to be 
Indians. It 's our only chance to burn a cap- 
tive at the stake." 

" We might make him run the gantlet first," 
suggested Harry Zachary, who was a delicate 
bov of a very mild appearance, but strangely 
fertile in sanguinary suggestions. 

" Let little Jimmy Wigger be the captive," 
Lott proposed. "We won't hurt him much." 

" No, you don't," Tom Paulding interposed. 
" Little Jimmy is too young. Besides, when 
his aunt let him join the Black Band, I pro- 
mised that I would keep him out of mischief." 
" Then who '11 run the gantlet ? " asked Lott, 
sulkily. 

" I will," Tom answered. " I 'd just as lief 
In fact, I 'd liefer. I 've never been burned 
at the stake yet, anil the Sioux shall see how 
a Pawnee can die! " 

Then, at the command of Cissy Smith, the 
Black Band formed in a double row facing 
inward, and 'lom Paulding ran the gantlet. 
When he came to the end of the lines he broke 
away, and the whole troop pursued him. After 
a sharp run he was caught, and brought back 
to the bonfire. .More fuel was heaped upon 
this, and it blazed up fiercely. A stake was 
driven into the ground not far from the tire, 
and Tom was tied to it, with his hands behind 
him. Then, under the leadership of Cissy 
Smith, the Black Band circled about the fire 
and the stake, with Indian yells and shrill 
whistles. .As the flames rose and fell on the 
shouting boys and on I lie broken rock> which 



towered high above them on both sides, an 
imaginative spectator might almost have fan- 
cied himself gazing at some strange rite of the 
redskins in a far canon of Colorado. 

Chapter III. 




A WALK BY THE RIVER. 

BOUT six o'- 
clock Jimmy 
Wigger's aunt 
came for him. 
He begged 
hard for only 
a few minutes 
more, but she 
did not yield 
and he went 
away reluc- 
tantly. Other 
members of the Black Band remembered that their 
suppers would be waiting for them; and soon the 
assembly broke up. The smaller boys were the 
first to go, and the Captain and Lieutenant of 
the Black Band were the last to leave the blad- 
ing barrel which now was almost burnt out. 

Tom Paulding had released himself from the 
bonds that bound him to the stake ; and as he 
was stooping over the embers to warm his 
hands. Cissy Smith proposed that they should 
go for a walk through the woods between the 
Riverside drive and the river. Tom agreed at 
once, and asked Harry Zachary to come also. 
Corkscrew Lott had started oft" ahead of 
them, but at the first comer he, too, joined 
the group. 

The boys walked down the street four 
abreast. Cissy rolling along irregularly in his 
usual fashion. They crossed the Riverside 
Drive and stood for a minute at the head of 
the stone steps that leil to the strip of steep 
wootlUind below. There was a sharp whistle in 
the distance, and then an ailvancing roar; and 
a short jiassenger train rushed rapidly past 
them, the flying white steam from the engine 
reddened by the glare from the furnace as the 
fireman threw in fresh fuel. Out on the broad 
river beyond, one of the night-boats went up 
the river, its rii)pling wake gleaming in the 
bluish moonlight. 



22 



TOM PAULDING. 



[Nov, 



" I wonder why little Jimmy's aunt came for The best plan is to be alone in the woods, and 

hirn so early," said Corkscrew, twisting himself take 'em by surprise, and kill 'em, one by one, 

up on the parapet to get a good look over it. and mark 'em." 

" If she 'd found him tied to the stake, and " And suppose one of them takes you by 

the Black Band scalp-dancing all around him, surprise and kills you, what then ? " Cissy 

she 'd have been 'most scared out of a year's interposed. 

f^rowth, I reckon," Harry Zachary commented. " I reckon I 'd have to take my chances, if 1 

His mother was a Kentuckian, and it was from was an Avenger," Harry admitted. " But in the 

her that he learned his gentle ways and his books they 'most always get the best of it." 

excellent manners. He had taken also from " Let 's go down to the water as we said we 



her an occasional Southern phrase not com- 
mon in New York. 

" I don't believe it would be much fun to 
be an Indian really," Cissy remarked. " I 
guess they have a pretty hard time of it when 
it 's cold and rainy — leastwise those I 've 
seen West did n't seem any too set up and 



would," suggested Cissy. 

" Look at that schooner," Tom cried, as they 
were going down the long stone stairway. 
" She 's a beauty, and no mistake." 

" That 's the kind of a ship I 'd like if I was 
a pirate like Lafitte," said Harry Zachary. 
" How can you be a pirate now, when 
happy." Cissy's father, Dr. Smith, had only there are policemen everywhere ? " asked Cissy, 
a short time before removed to New York from scornfully. 
Denver. 

" Have you seen real Indians out West ? " 
asked Tom Paulding. " Were they on the 
war-path ? " 

" Not much they were n't. They were coming 
into the agency to get their rations," Cissy 
answered. 

" Did you kill any of 'em when you had 



" I 'd like to be a pirate some place where 
there are n't any pohcemen," Harry explained. 
" Down in Patagonia, or up in Greenland, or 
somewhere." 

" They 'd be sure to send a big frigate after 
you," said Tom Paulding; " they always do." 

"Then I 'd fight the frigate till the deck 
ran with blood," persisted Harry, with a tone 



the chance?" asked Harry in his usual timid of excitement in his gentle voice. "I 'd nail 

voice. the black flag to the mast ; and if they got the 

" I did n't kill 'em. Of course not," Cissy better of us 1 'd fire the powder-magazine and 

responded. " Why should I ? " blow up the whole boat — and that would 

Tom Paulding was kindly by nature, but he surprise them, I reckon." 

was a little disappointed to learn that his friend '' It is n't the kind of surprise party / want," 

had neglected a chance to kill a redskin. said Cissy emphatically, as the boys came to 

" Perhaps you 've never read a book called a halt among the trees near the railroad track 

* Nick of the Woods ' ? " Harry Zachary in- by the edge of the river. 

quired. " That tells all about a man they " How many pirates would there be on a 

called the Jibbenainosay, who lived in the boat hke that ? " intjuired Lott. 

forest and killed Indians, and marked every " How many beans make five ? " Cissy Smith 

man he killed so that they should know the answered sarcastically. " There 's a Boston 

handiwork of the Mysterious Avenger." problem for you." 

" My Uncle Dick, when lie went up to the Lott had been born in Boston, and he had 

Black Hills, had a fight with the Indians," .said lived in New York less than a year. 

Tom. " I wish I knew a place where a pirate liad 

" How many did Jic kill ? " asked Corkscrew, buried his treasure," he remarked, paying no 

promptly. attention to Smith's taunt. 

" He did n't know," replied Tom, " but — " " Now, there 's another thing that 's great 

" If he did n't know how many he kille<l fun," Harry interjected, " and that 's hunting 

what was the use of talking about it?" Harry for buried treasure. 1 've read all about that 

Zachary asked. "That is n't any way to do. in a story called ' The Gold Bug.' It 's pretty 



cSgi. 



TOM PAULDING. 



23 



interesting, I reckon, to dig under a tree with a 
skeleton or a skull on one branch, and to find 
thousands and thousands of guineas and doub- 
loons and pieces-of-eight." 

'■ Pieces of eight what ? " asked Cissy. 

" Pieces-of-eight — why, that 's just the name 
they have for them. They 're some kind of a 
coin, I reckon," replied Harry. 

'• Pieces of eight cents, very likely," Cissy re- 
turned. " I don't believe it 's worth while wear- 
ing yourself out with hard labor just to dig up 
a few pieces of eight cents. And who would 



" I guess the great-grandchildren of the man 
that stole it have a better chance of getting it 
than you have," said Cissy. 

" He did n't leave any family — he did n't 
leave any trace of himself, even." Tom replied. 
" He just disappeared, taking the money with 
him. He 's never been seen or heard of since, 
so my mother told me." 

'• And I guess the money will never be seen 
or heard of, either," Cissy remarked. 

" How much was it? " Corkscrew in<}uired. 

" Oh, a lot ! " Tom answered; '-several thou- 



all these guineas and doubloons and pieces of sand jjounds — as much gold as a man could 



eight cents belong to when you found 'em ? " 

" They 'd belong to us, I reckon," answered 
Harry. 

•• And just suppose they did n't ? " retorted 
Cissy. 

" Suppose the rightful owner turned up," 
suggested Tom Paulding ; " the man who had 
buried the money during the war, or the son of 
the man, or his grandson ? " 

Harr}- Zachary was a little taken aback at 
this. His manner, always gentle and shy, 
now seemed milder than ever. 

•' Well," he said at last, " I reckon I 'd have 
the luck to find the treasure that belonged to 
our family — that had been hid by my father, 
maybe, or my grandfather." 

" Shucks ! " cried Cissy, forcibly. '• Being a 
pirate where there 's no police and finding 
buried treasure that belongs to you — I don't 
think that 's so very exciting, do you ? " 

Harry Zachary felt that this was a home 
thrust, and he had no retort readv. Tom Paul- 
(ling came to his rescue and gave a practical 
turn to the talk. 



carry. He took all he could lift comfortably." 

" What would you do with it, if you had it ? " 
asked Corkscrew. 

" I 'd pay oft" the mortgage on our house." 
said Tom, promptly. '• And I 'd get loLs of 
things for Pauline — my sister, you know ; and 
instead of going into a store as I 've got to do 
next winter. I d study to be a mining engineer." 

'' I 'd rather be a soldier," Harry 2^char>' 
declared. " What would you like to be. 
Cissy ? " 

" It does n't make any matter what I 'd like 
to be," rej)lied Cissy ; " I know what I am going 
to be — and that 's a doctor. Pa says that 
he '11 need an assistant by the time I 'm through 
the medical school, and he allows he can ring 
me in on his patients." 

'' I have n't made up my mind what I "d 
like to be," said Lott. "At first I thought 
I 'd choose to be an expressman, because then 
I 'd get inside all sorts of houses, and see how 
the ])eople lived, and Icam all sorts of things. 
Hut I 've been thinking it might be more fun 
to be a detective, because then I could find out 



" There 's a buried treasure belonging to us, anything I wantetl to know." 



somewhere," he said, conscious of the envy this 
remark would excite. 

" Where is it ? " asked Corkscrew, promi)tly. 

'* If he knew where it was, don't you sup- 
pose he 'd hustle round and get it ? " Cissy 
remarked. 

"It is n't really buried treasure," explained 
Tom, '• at least, we don't know whether it 's 
buried or not, or what has become of it. Vou 
•see, it 's just a lot of money that was stolen 
from my great-grandfather during the Revolu- 
tionar)^ War." 



•• I guess it would take the .\stor Library to 
hold all you want to know. Corkscrew." said 
Cissy pleasantly, as the boys began to retrace 
their stejis up the hill : " but all you "re likely 
to find out couUl be put in a copybook ! " 

Lott fell back a little and walked by the side 
of Harry Zachary. 

" I wonder what makes Cissy Smith so per- 
nickety." he said. " He 's always poking fun 
at me." 

" I would n't mind him now," responded 
Harry, consolingly, " and when you are a detec- 



24 



TOM PAULDING. 



[Nov. 



tive you can find out something about him and " I can't bear that Corkscrew," Cissy con- 
arrest him." fessed to Tom in a whisper. 

This comforting suggestion helped to keep " Well," Tom answered, also in a whisper, 

up Lott's spirits, although Smith made more " I don't know that I really like him, myself, 

than one other sarcastic remark as the four But he 's one of the Black Band now, and I 

climbed the hillside together. suppose we must stand by him." 

(To be coiithiiied.) 




' .i/l' .^-''^ ^"'^^'''- 









-JrT 






^ ■'' '^IllSi^^fff^wwit 




l-;^ --rM. .r,. 









^')''*?%y^ 



W}2^*i 







'im 




H 




By Virginia Woodward Cloud. 



"Whirr!" says the little wheel. "Whirr! Whirr!" 
While out of the window a twitter and stir. 
And the bells of the garden are all a-chime 
With the clock in the corner that ticks the time 
Solemn o'er Lisbeth's white-capped head, 
And kerchief demure, and petticoat red ; 



'891.] LISBETH S SONG. 

" Whirr '. " says the Uttle wheel, '• let me be ! " 
But Lisbeth laughs, and blithe sings she : 
•• Soft and bright, 
Smooth and white, 

Keeps the thread in beginning, 
And I '11 have no spot, 
Or tangled knot. 

At the close of this day's spinning." 

"Burr!" says the little wheel. " Bur-r-r — ' 
While the buds in the window beckon to her, 
And the sunlight mocks at the clock's stem face. 
And the big blue tiles in the chimney-place. 
And dances in glee on the white floor bare. 
And Lisbeth's braids of yellow hair — 
" Burr ! " says the little wheel, " don't you see ? " 
But Lisbeth laughs, and blithe sings she : 
" Turn and spin. 
Out and in, 

Xo end without a beginning ; 
I must have no spot, 
Or tangled knot. 

At the close of this day's spinning ! " 




i 





\ - - r - » 



1 




( Tee- Wahn Folk-Stories. ) 




By Charles F. Lummis. 



OW there is a tail on 
you, coiiipadre (friend)," 
said old Desiderio, 
nodding at Patricio 
after we had sat a- 
while in silence around 
the crackling fire. His 
remark referred to the 
Pueblo superstition that 
a donkey-tail will grow 
upon him who obsti- 
nately refuses to tell a 
story in his turn. 
Patricio was holding 
WmmWmm a strip of rawhide across 
^^^MT '^^^ knee, and was scraping the 

hair from it with a dull knife. 
It was high time to be thinking of new soles, 
for already there was a wee hole in the bottom of 
each of his moccasins; and as for Benito, his 
:shy little grandson, his toes were all abroad. 

But shrilly as the cold night-wind outside 
hinted the wisdom of speedy cobbling, Patricio 
had no wish to accpiire that donkey's tail, so, 
laying the rawhide and knife upon the floor be- 
dside him, he deliberately rolled a modest pinch 
'of an aromatic weed in a corn-husk, lighted 



this cigarette at the coals, and drew Benito's 
tousled head to his side. 

" You have heard," he said, with a slow puff, 
" about Nah-chu-ru-chu, the mighty medicine- 
man who lived here in Isleta in the times of 
the ancients ? " 

'■'■ Ahu ! (yes!)" cried all the boys. "You 
have promised to tell us how he married the 
Moon ! " 

""Another time I will do so. But now I 
shall tell you something that was before that — 
for Nah-chu-ru-chu had many strange adven- 
tures before he married P'ah-hlee-oh, the Moon 
Mother. Do you know why the rattlesnake — 
which is the king of all snakes and alone has 
the power of death in his mouth — always 
shakes his i^iiaje [the Pueblo sacred rattle] be- 
fore he bites ? " 

" Een-dah ! (No ! ) " chorused Ramon, and 
Benito, and Juan, and Tomas, very eagerly ; for 
they were particularly fond of hearing about 
the exploits of the greatest of Tee-wahn medi- 
cine-men. 

" Listen, then, and you shall hear." 

In those days Nah-cliu-ru-chu had a friend 
who lived in a i)ueblo nearer the foot of the 



26 



TEE-WAIIX FOLK-STORIES. 



27 



Eagle Feather Mountain than this, in the Place But as he caught the magic hoop when it came 



of the Red Earth, where still are its ruins ; and 
the two young men went often to the mountain 
together to bring wood and to hunt. Now, 
Nah-chu-ru-chu had a white heart, and never 
thought ill; hut the friend had the evil road 
and became jealous, for Nah- 
chu-ru-chu was a better hunter. 
But he said nothing, and did as 
if he still loved Nah-chu-ru-chu 
truly. 

One day the friend came 
over from his village and said : 

" Friend Nah-chu-ru-chu, let 
us go to-morrow for wood, and . ^ 

to have a hunt." 

"It is well," replied Nah- 
chu-ru-chu. Next morning he 
started very early and came to 
the village of his friend ; and 
together they went to the moun- 
tain. When they had gathered 
much wood, and lashed it in 
bundles for carrying, they started 
off in opposite directions to 
hunt. In a short time each re- 
turned with a fine fat deer. 

'■ But why should we hasten 
to go home, friend Nah-chu- 
ru-chu ? " said the friend. " It 
is still early, and we have much 
time. Come, let us stay here 
and amuse ourselves with a 
game." 

'• It is well, friend," answered 
Nah-chu-ru-chu, " but what 
game shall we play ? For we 
have neither sticks, nor hoops, 
nor any other game here." 

" Yes ; we will roll the //ta/i- 
kliiir, for while I was waiting 
for you I maile one that we might 
])lay" — and the false frienil 
drew from beneath his blanket 
a pretty, painted hoop. Really 
he had bewitched it at home. 



rolling, he was no longer Nah-chu-ru-chu the 
brave hunter, but was instantly changed into a 
poor coyote with great tears rolling down his 
nose! 

" Hu ! " said the false friend, tauntingly, '• we 



<. 



wj 



— « 





and had brought it hidden, 



AS ME CAUGHT THK HiXll', HE WAS INSTANTLY CHANCKD INTO A POOR COYOTE \ 



on purpose to do harm to Nah-chu-ru-chu. do this to each other! So now you have all 

"Now go down there and cat( h it when I tlie plains to wander over, to the north, and 

roll it," said he ; and Nah-chu-ru-chu diil so. west, and south ; but you can never go to the 



28 



TEE-WAHN FOLK-STORIES. 



[Nov. 



east. And if you are not lucky, the dogs will 
tear you ; but if you are lucky, they may have 
pity on you. So now good-by, for this is the 
last I shall ever see of you." 

Then the false friend went away, laughing, 
to his village; and the poor coyote wandered 
aimlessly, weeping to think that he had been 
betrayed by the one he had loved and trusted 
as a brother. For four days he prowled about 
the outskirts of Isleta, looking wistfully at his 
home. The fierce dogs ran out to tear him ; 
but when they came near, they only sniffed at 
him, and went away without hurting him. He 
could find nothing to eat save dry bones, and 
old soles or thongs of moccasins. 

On the fourth day, he turned westward, and 
wandered until he came to Mesita. There 
was no town of the Lagunas there then, and 
only a shepherd's hut and corral, in which 
were an old Queres Indian and his grandson, 
tending their goats. 

Next morning when the grandson went out 
very early to let the goats from the corral, he 
saw a coyote run out from among the goats. 
It went off a little way, and then sat down and 
watched him. The boy counted the goats, 
and none were missing, and he thought it 
strange. But he said nothing to his grand- 
father. 

For three more mornings, the very same 
thing happened ; and on the fourth morning 
the boy told his grandfather. The old man 
came out, and sent the dogs after the coyote, 
which was sitting at a little distance ; but when 
they came near they would not touch him. 

" I suspect there is something wrong here," 
said the old shepherd ; and he called : " Coyote, 
are you coyote-true, or are you people ? " 

But the coyote could not answer; and the old 
man called again: "Coyote, are you people?" 

At that the coyote nodded his head, " Yes." 

" If that is so, come here and be not afraid 
of us; for we will be the ones to help you out 
of this trouble." 

So the coyote came to them and licked their 
hands, and they gave it food — for it was dying 
of hunger. When it was fed, the old man said: 

" Now, son, you are going out with the goats 
along the creek, and there you will see some 
willows. With your mind look at two willows. 



and note them ; and to-morrow morning you 
must go and bring one of them." 

The boy went away tending the goats, and 
the coyote stayed with the old man. Next 
morning, when they awoke very early, they 
saw all the earth wrapped in a white ma?ita, or 
cloak. [This figure of speech is always used 
by the Pueblos in speaking of snow in connec- 
tion with sacred things.] 

" Now, son," said the old man, " you must 
wear only your moccasins and leggings and go 
like a man to the two willows you marked 
yesterday. To one of them you must pray ; 
and then cut the other, and bring it to me." 

The boy did so, and came back with the wil- 
low stick. The old man prayed, and made a 
iitah-khur hoop ; and bidding the coyote stand 
a little way off and stick his head through the 
hoop before it should stop rolling, rolled it to- 
ward him. The coyote waited till the hoop 
came very close, and gave a great jump and 
put his head through it before it could stop. 
And lo! in an instant, there stood Nah-chu- 
ru-chu, young and handsome as ever; but his 
beautiful suit of fringed buckskin was all in rags. 
For four days he stayed there and was cleansed 
with the cleansing of the medicine-man ; and 
then the old shepherd said to him : 

" Now, friend Nah-chu-ru-chu, there is a 
road. [That is, you can go home.] But take 
with you this faja [a fine woven belt, with fig- 
ures in bright colors], for though your power 
is great, you have submitted to this evil. When 
you get home, he who did this to you will be 
first to know, and he will come pretending to 
be your friend as if he had done nothing ; and 
he will ask you to go hunting again. So you 
must go; and when you come to the mountain, 
with ikix'i faja you shall repay him." 

Nah-chu-ru-chu thanked the kind old shep- 
herd, and started home. But when he came 
to the Bad Hill and looked down into the val- 
ley of the Rio Grande, his heart sank. All the 
grass and fields and trees were dry and dead — 
for Nah-chu-ru-chu was the medicine-man who 
controlled the clouds, so no rain could fall 
when he was gone ; and the eight days he had 
been a coyote were in truth eight years. The 
river was dry, and the springs ; and many of 
the people were dead from thirst, and the rest 



1891. 



TEE-WAHN FOLK-STORIES. 



29 



were dying. But as Nah-chu-ru-chu came 
down the hill, it began to rain again, and all 
the people were glad. 

When he came into the pueblo, all the fam- 
ishing people came out to welcome him. And 
soon came the false friend, making as if he had 
never bewitched him nor had known whither 
he disappeared. 



" Then I will roll it to you ; and if you can 
catch it before it unwinds, you may have it." 

So he wound it up [hke a roll of tape], and 
holding by one end gave it a push so that it 
ran away from him, unrolling as it went. The 
false friend jumped for it, but it was unrolled 
before he caught it. 

" Eeti-dah : " said Nah-chu-ru-chu, pulling it 





<; 



/r 



^. 



"AS HE SEIZKD IT HE WAS CHANGED FROM A 

In a few days the false friend came again to 
propose a hunt ; and next morning they went 
to the mountain together. Nah-chu-ru-chu 
JKul the pretty jaja wound around his waist; 
and when the wind blew his blanket aside, the 
otlier saw it. 

"Ah! What a pretty foja r' cried the 
false friend. "C.ive it to me. frien<l Nah- 
chu-ru-chu." 

'' Eiii-iiiih : (No!)" said Nah-chu-ru-chu. 
But the false friend begged so hard that at last 
he said : 



TALL VOlNc; MAN INTO A GREAT RATTLESNAKE " 

back. " If you do not care enough for it to be 
spryer than that, you cannot have it." 

The false friend begged for another trial : so 
Nah-chu-ru-chu rolle<l it again. This time the 
false friend caught it before it was unrolled ; 
aii.l lo I as he seized it he was changetl from a 
tall young man into a great rattlesnake, wuh 
tears rolling from his lidless eyes! 

'• We, too. do this to each other! " said Nah- 
chu-ru-chu. lie took from hi-^ medicine-pouch 
a pinch of the sacred meal and laid it on the 
snake's flat head f(M- its food, and then a pinch 



30 



TEE-WAHN FOLK-STORIES. 



[Nov. 



of the corn-pollen to tame it. And the snake 
ran out its red, forked tongue, and licked them. 
" Now," said Nah-chu-ru-chu, " this moun- 
tain and all rocky places shall be your home. 
But you can never again do harm to another 
without warning, as you did to me. For see, 
there is a guaje in your tail, and whenever you 
would do any one an injury, you must warn 
them beforehand with your rattle." 

" And is that the reason why Ch'ah-rah-rah- 
deh always rattles to give warning before he 
bites ? " asked Juan, who is now quite as often 
called Juan Biscocho (John Biscuit), since I 
photographed him one day craAvling out of 
the big adobe bake-oven where he had been 
hiding. 

" That is the very reason. Then Nah-chu- 
ru-chu left his false friend, from whom all the 
rattlesnakes are descended, and came back to 
his village. From that time all went well with 
Isleta, for Nah-chu-ru-chu was at home again 
to attend to the clouds. There was plenty of 
rain, and the river began to run again, and the 
springs flowed. The people plowed and planted 
again, as they had not been able to do for sev- 
eral years, and all their work prospered. As 
for the people who lived in the Place of the 
Red Earth, they all moved down here, because 
the Apaches were very bad ; and here their de- 
scendants live to this day." 

" Is that so ? " sighed all the boys, in chorus, 
sorry that the story was so soon done. 

" That is so," replied old Patricio. " And 
now, compadre Antonio, there is a tail on you." 

" Well, then, I will tell a story which they 
told me in Taos* last year," said the old man. 

" Ah-h ! " said the boys. 

" It is about 

THE COYOTE AND THE WOODPECKER." 

Well, once upon a time a Coyote and his 
family lived near the edge of a wood. There 
was a big hollow tree there, and in it lived an 
old Woodpecker and his wife and children. 
One day as the Coyote father was strolling 
along the edge of the forest he met the Wood- 
pecker father. 

" Hin-no-kah-kee-ma (good morning)," said 

* The most northern of the Pueblo c 



the Coyote ; " how do you do to-day, friend 
Hloo-ree-deh (Woodpecker) ? " 

" Very well, thank you, and how are you, 
friend Too-whay-deh (Coyote) ? " 

So they stopped and talked together awhile ; 
and when they were about to separate the Coy- 
ote said : 

" Friend Woodpecker, why do you not come 
as friends to see us ? Come to our house to 
supper this evening, and bring your family." 

" Thank you, friend Coyote," said the Wood- 
pecker, " we will come with joy." 

So that evening, when the Coyote mother had 
made supper ready, here came the Wood- 
pecker father and the Woodpecker mother with 
their three children. When they had come in, 
all five of the Woodpeckers stretched them- 
selves as they do after flying, and by that 
showed their pretty feathers — for the Hloo-ree- 
deh has yellow and red marks under its wings. 
While they were eating supper too, they some- 
times spread their wings, and displayed their 
bright under-side. They praised the supper 
highly, and said the Coyote mother was a per- 
fect housekeeper. When it was time to go, 
they thanked the Coyotes very kindly and in- 
vited them to come to supper at their house 
the following evening. But after they were 
gone, the Coyote father could restrain himself 
no longer, and he said : 

" Did you see what airs those Woodpeckers 
put on ? Always showing off" their bright 
feathers ? But I want them to know that the 
Coyotes are equal to them. / 7/ show them! " 

Next day, the Coyote father set all his fam- 
ily at work bringing wood, and built a great 
fire in front of his house. Wlien it was time to 
go to the house of the Woodpeckers he called 
his wife and children to the fire, and lashed a 
burning stick under each of their arms, Avith the 
burning end pointing forward ; and then he 
fixed himself in the same way. 

" Now," said he, " we will show thein ! 
When we get there, you must lift up your arms 
now and then, to show them that we are as 
good as the Woodpeckers." 

When they came to the house of the Wood- 
peckers and went in, all the Coyotes kept lift- 
ing their anns often, to show the bright coals 

ities. Its people also are Tee-wahn. 



iSgi.] 



TEE-WAHN FOLK-STORIES. 



31 



underneath. But as they sat do^vTi to supper, But the Coyotes were very uncomfortable,. 

one Coyote girl gave a shriek and said : and made an excuse to hurry home as soon as 

" 0\v, Tata! My lire is burning me!" they could. When they got there, the Coyote 

" Be patient, my daughter," said the Coyote father whipped them all for exposing him to 

father, severely, '• and do not cry about little be laughed at. 

things." But the Woodpecker father gathered his chil- 

" Oh ! " cried another Coyote girl in a mo- dren around him, and said : 

ment, " my fire has gone out 1 " " Now, my children, you see what the Coy- 




THE COYOTES AT SITPER WITH THE WOODPECKERS. 



This was more than the Coyote father could otes have done. Never in your life try to 

stand, and he reproved her angrilw appear what you are not. Be just what you 

" But how is it, friend Coyote," said the really are, and put on no false colors." 
Woodpecker politely, " that your colors are so 

bright at first, but very soon become black ? " " Is that so ? " cried the boys, as is custom- 

" Oh, that is the beauty of our colors," re- ary at the end of a story, 

plied the Coyote, smothering his rage, " that '* That is so ; and it is as true for people as for 

they are not always the same — like other peo- beasts and birds. Now, ti*o k-wai [come] — we 

pie's — but turn all shatles." have talked long enough ; it is bedtime." 




THE REFEREE. 



THE DICKEY BOY. 



By Mary E. Wilkins. 



" I SHOULD think it was about time for him 
to be comin','' said Mrs. Rose. 

" So should I," assented Miss Elvira Grayson. 
She peered around the corner of the front door. 
Her face was thin and anxious, and her voice 
was so like it that it was unmistakably her own 
note. One would as soon expect a crow to 
chick-a-dee as Miss Elvira to talk in any other 
way. She was tall, and there was a sort of 
<lainty angularity about her narrow shoulders. 
vShe wore an old black silk, which was a great 
deal of dress for afternoon. She had consider- 
able money in tlie l)ank and could afford to 
dress well. She wore also some white lace 
around her long neck, and it was fastened with 



a handsome gold and jet brooch. She was 
knitting some blue worsted, and she sat back 
in the front entry, out of the draft. She con- 
sidered herself rather delicate. 

Mrs. Rose sat boldly out in the yard in the 
full range of the breeze, sewing upon a blue-and- 
white gingham waist for her son Willy. She was 
a large, pretty-faced woman in a stiffly starched 
purple muslin, which spread widely around her. 

" He 's been gone 'most an hour," she went 
on; "I hope there 's nothin' happened." 

" I wonder if there 's snakes in that meadow ? " 
ruminated Miss Elvira. 

" I don't know ; I 'm gettin' ruther uneasy." 

" I know one thing — I should n't let him go 



32 



THF. DICKEV IJOV. 



53 



off so, without somebody older with him. it" he 
was ray boy." 

•• Well, I don't know what I can do."' returned 
Mrs. Rose uneasily. " There ain't anybody to 
go with him. I can't go diggin' sassafras-root, 
and you can't, and his uncle Hiram 's too busy, 
and grandfather is too stiff. And he is so crazy 
to go after sassafras-root, it does seem a pity to 
tell him he sha'n't. I never saw a child so pos- 
sessed after the root and sassafras-tea. as he is, 
in my life. I s'pose it 's good for him. I hate- 
to denv him when he takes so much comfort 
goin'. There he is now ! " 

Little Willy Rose crossed the roail, and toiled 
up the stone steps. The front yard was ter- 
raced, and two flights of stone steps led up to 
the front door. He was (juite breathless when 
lie stood on the top step ; his round, sweet face 
was pink, his fair hair plastered in flat locks to 
his wet forehead. His little trousers and his 
shoes were muddy, and he carried a great 
.scraggy mass of sassafras-roots. " I see vou 
a-settin' out here," he panted softly. 

" You ought not to have stayed so long. We 
began to be worried about you," said his mother 
in a fond voice. " Now go and take your muddy 
shoes right off, and put on your sHpjiers ; then 
you can sit down at the back door and clean 
\our sassafras, if you want to." 

'• I got lots," said ^\'illy, smiling sweetly and 
wiping his forehead. " Look-a-there, Miss El- 
viry." 

'• So you did," returned Miss Klvira. ■' I sup- 
jjose now you think you '11 have some sassafras- 
tea." 

" Yes, ma'am." 

*• I guess I Ml steep him a little for sup])er, 
he 's so crazy for it," said Mrs, Rose when Willy 
had disappeared smilingly around the corner. 

" Yes, I would. It 's real wholesome for him. 
Who 's that comin' ? " 

Mrs. Rose stared tlown at the road. A white 
horse with an open buggy was just turning into 
the driveway, arounil the south side of the ter- 
races. '• Why, it 's brother Hiram." saiil she, 
'•and he's got a boy with him. I wonder who 
't is." 

The buggy drew up with a grating noise 
in the driveway. Presently a man ap|)eared 
around the comer. .After him tagged a small 
Vol- XIX.— 3. 



white-headed boy, and after the boy Willy Rose, 
with a sassafras-root and an old shoe-knit'e in 
his hands. 

The man. who was Mr. Hiram Fairbanks, 
Mrs. Rose's brother, had a somewhat doubtful 
expression. When he stopped, the white-headed 
boy stopped, keeping a little behind him in his 
shadow. 

" What boy is that, Hiram ? ' asked Mrs. 
Rose. Miss Klvira peered around the door. 
Mr. Fairbanks was tall and stiff-looking. He 
had a sunburned, sober face. " His name is 
Dickey," he replied. 

"One of those Dickeys?" Mrs. Rose said 
" Dickeys'* as if it were a synonym for "outcasts" 
or " rascals." 

Mr. Fairbanks nodded. He glanced at the 
boy in his wake, then at Willy. •• Willy, s'pose 




!0£L 




THK 1>ICKK\ nov. 



you take this little boy 'round and show him 

your rabbits," he said in an embarrassed voice. 

•• Willv Rose ! " cried his mother, " vou have n't 



34 



THE DICKEY BOY. 



[Nov. 



changed those muddy shoes ! Go right in this 
minute, 'round by the kitchen door, and take 
this boy 'round with you; he can sit down on 
the door-step and help you clean your sassafras- 
root." 

Willy disappeared lingeringly around the 
house, and the other boy, on being further bid- 
den by Mr. Fairbanks, followed him. " Willy," 
his mother cried after him, " mind you sit down 
on the door-step and tie your shoes ! I ain't 
goin' to have that Dickey boy left alone; his 
folks are nothin' but a pack of thieves," she re- 
marked in a lower tone. " What are you doing 
with him, Hiram ? " 

Hiram hesitated. " Well, 'Mandy, you was 
sayin' the other day that you wished you had a 
boy to run errands, and split up kindlin's, and 
be kind of company for Willy." 

" You ain't brought that Dickey boy ? " 

" Now, look here, 'Mandy—" 

" I ain't going to have him in the house." 

"Jest look here a minute, 'Mandy, till I tell 
you how it happened, and then you can do jest 
as you 're a mind to about it. I was up by 
the Ruggles's this afternoon, and Mis' Rug- 
gles, she come out to the gate, and hailed me. 
She wanted to know if I did n't want a boy. 
Seems the Dickey woman died last week ; you 
know the father died two year ago. Well, 
there was six children, and the oldest boy 's 
skip])ed, nobody knows where, and the oldest 
girl has just got married, and this boy is the 
oldest of the four that 's left. They took the 
three little ones to the poorhouse, and Mis' 
Ruggles she took this boy in, and she wanted 
to keep him, but her own boy is big enough 
to do all the chores, and she did n't feel as if 
she could afford to. She says he 's a real nice 
little fellow, and his mother wa' n't a bad 
woman ; she was jest kind of sickly and shift- 
less. I guess old Dickey wa' n't much, but 
he 's dead. Mis' Ruggles says this little chap 
hates awful to go to the poorhouse, and it 
ain't no kind of risk to take him, and she 'd 
ought to know. She 's lived right there next 
door to the Dickeys ever since she was married. 
I knew you wanted a boy to do chores round, 
long as Willy was n't strong enough, so I 
thought I 'd fetch liim along. But you can 
do jest as you 're a mind to." 



" Now, Hiram Fairbanks, you know the 
name those Dickeys have always had. S'pose 
I took that boy, and he stole ? " 

" Mis' Ruggles says she 'd trust him with 
anything." 

" She ain't got so much as I have to lose. 
There I 've got two dozen solid silver tea- 
spoons, and four table-spoons, and my mother's 
silver creamer, and Willy's silver napkin-ring. 
Elviry 's got her gold watch, too." 

" I 've got other things I would n't lose for 
anything," chimed in Miss Elvira. 

" Well, of course, I don't want you to lose 
anything," said Mr. Fairbanks helplessly, " but 
Mis' Ruggles, she said he was perfectly safe." 

" I s'pose I could lock up the silver spoons 
and use the old pewter ones, and Elviry could 
keep her watch out of sight for a while," ru- 
minated Mrs. Rose. 

" Yes, I could," assented Miss Elvira, " and 
my breast-pin." 

" I s'pose he could draw the water, and split 
up the kindlin'-wood, and weed the flower- 
garden," said Mrs, Rose. " I set Willy to 
weedin' this morning, and it gave him the 
headache. I tell you one thing, Hiram Fair- 
banks, if I do take this boy, you 've got to 
stand ready to take him back again the iirst 
minute I see anything out of the way with 
him." 

"Yes, I will, 'Mandy; I promise you I will," 
said Mr. Fairbanks eagerly. He hurried out 
to the buggy, and fumbled under the seat ; then 
he returned with a bundle and a small wooden 
box. 

" Here 's his clothes. I guess he ain't got 
much," said he. 

Mrs. Rose took the newspaper bundle; then 
she eyed the box suspiciously. It was a 
wooden salt-box, and the sliding cover Avas 
nailed on. 

" What 's in this ? " said she. 

" Oh, I don't know," replied Mr. Fairbanks ; 
"some truck or other — I guess it ain't worth 
much." 

He put the box down on the bank, and 
trudged heavily and quickly out to the buggy. 
He was anxious to be off; he shook the reins, 
shouted " ge lang " to the white horse, and 
wheeled swiftly around the corner. 



I89I.] 



THE DICKEY BOY. 



" I 'd like to know what 's in that box," said him sharply ; his small pale face showed red 

Mrs. Rose to Miss Elvira. stains in the lamplight. She thought to her- 

" I hope he ain't got an old pistol or any- self that he had been crying, and she spoke to 

thing of that kind in it," returned Miss Elvira, him as kindly as she could — she had not a ca- 

" Oh, 'Mandy, I would n't shake it, if I were ressing manner with anybody but Willy. '• I 

you I " For Mrs. Rose was shaking the wooden guess there 's clothes enough on the bed," said 

box, and listening with her ear at it. .she. She looked curiously at the bundle and 

" Something rattles in it," said she, desisting ; the wooden box. Then she unfastened the 

" I hope it ain't a pistol." Then she entered bundle. " I guess I '11 see what you 've got 



with the newspaper-bundle and the box, and 
went through the house with Miss Elvira fol- 
lowing. She set the bundle and box on the 
kitchen table, and looked out of the door. 
There on the top step sat the Dickey boy 



for clothes," said she, and her tone was as 
motherly as she could make it toward this out- 
cast Dickey boy. She laid out his pitiful httle 
wardrobe, and examined the small ragged shirt 
or two and the fragmentary stockings. " I 



cleaning the sassafras-roots with great industry, guess I shall have to buy you some things if 



while Willy Rose sat on the lower one chew- 
ing some. 

" I do believe he 's goin' to take right hold, 
Elviry," whispered Mrs. Rose. 

•' Well, maybe he is," returned Miss Elvira. 

Mrs. Rose stowed away the boy's belongings 
in the little bedroom off the kitchen where she 
meant him to sleep ; then she kindled the fire 
and got supper. She made sassafras-tea, and 
the new boy, sitting beside NV'illy, had a cup 
poured for him. But he did not drink much, 
nor eat much, although there were hot biscuits, 
and berries, and custards. He hung his forlorn 
head with its shock of white hair, and only 



you are a good boy," said she. '' What have you 
got in that box?" — the boy hung his head — 
" I hope you ain't got a pistol ? " 

" No, marm." 

" You ain't got any powder, nor anything of 
that kind ? " 

" No, marm." The boy was blushing con- 
fusedly. 

'' I hope you 're tellin' me the truth," Mrs. 
Rose said, and her tone was full of severe ad- 
monition. 

•• Yes, marm." The tears rolled down the 
boy's cheeks, and Mrs. Rose said no more. 
She told him she would call him in the morn- 



gave fleeting glances at anything with his wild ing, and to be careful about his lamp. Then 



blue eyes. He was a thin boy, .smaller than 
Willy, but he looked wiry and full of motion, 
like a wild rabbit. 

After supper Mrs. Rose sent him for a pail 
of water ; then he split up a little pile of kind- 
ling-wood. After that he sat down on the 
kitchen door-step in the soft twilight, and was 
silent. 

Willy went into the sitting-room, where his 
mother and Miss P>lvira were. " He 's settin' 
out there on the door-step, not .speakin' a 
word," saiil he, in a confniential wliisper. 



she left him. The Dickey boy lay awake, and 
cried an hour ; then he went to sleep, and slept 
as soundlv as Willv Rose in his snug little bed- 
room, leading out of his mother's room. Miss 
Elvira and Mrs. Rose locked their doors that 
night, through distrust of that little boy down- 
stairs who came of a thieving family. Miss 
Elvira i)ut her gold watch, and her breast-pin, 
and her pocket-book with seventeen dollars in 
it, under the feather-bed ; ami Mrs. Rose car- 
ried the silver teaspoons up-stairs, and hiil 
them under hers. The Dickev bov was not 



" Well, you had better sit down here witii us, suppo.sed to know they were in the house. — the 



and read your Sunday-school book," .said his 
mother. She and Miss Elvira had agreed that 
it was wiser that Willy should not be too much 
with the Dickey boy until they knew him 
better. 

^\'hen it was nine o'clock Mrs. Rose showed 
the Dickey boy his beilroom. She looked at 



pewter ones hatl been used for supper, — but that 
did not signify ; she thought it best to be on the 
safe side. She kej)! the silver s|)oons under the 
feather-bed for many a day, anil they all ate 
with the pewter ones, but finally suspicion was 
allayed if not destroyed. The Dickey boy had 
shown himself trustworthv in several instances. 



36 



THE DICKEY BOY. 



fNov. »- 



Once he was sent on a test errand to the store, 
and came home promptly with the right 
change. The silver spoons glittered in the 
spoon-holder on the table, and Miss Elvira 
wore her gold watch and her gold breast-pin. 

'• I begin to take a good deal more stock in 
that boy," Mrs. Rose told her brother Hiram. 
'• He ain't very lively, but he works real smart ; 
he ain't saucy, and I ain't known of his layin' 
hands on a thing." 

But the Dickey boy, although he had won 
some confidence and good opinions, was, as 
Mrs. Rose said, not very lively. His face, as 
he did his htde tasks, was as sober and serious 
as an old man's. Everybody was kind to him, 
but this poor little alien felt like a chimney- 
sweep in a queen's palace. Mrs. Rose, to a 
Dickey boy, was almost as impressive as a 
queen. He watched with admiration and awe 
this handsome, energetic woman moving about 
the house in her wide skirts. He was over- 
come with the magnificence of Miss Elvira's af- 
ternoon silk, and gold watch ; and dainty little 
Willy Rose seemed to him like a small prince. 
Either the Dickey boy, born in a republican 
country, had the original instincts of the peas- 
antry in him, and himself defined his place so 
clearly that it made him unhappy, or his pa- 
trons did it for him. Mrs. Rose and Miss El- 
vira tried to treat him as well as they treated 
Willy. They dressed him in Willy's old 
clothes, they gave him just as much to eat; 
when autumn came, he was sent to school as 
warmly clad and as well provided with lunch- 
eon ; but they could never forget that he was a 
Dickey boy. He seemed in truth to them like 
an animal of another species, in spite of all they 
could do, and they regarded his virtues in the 
light of uncertain tricks. Mrs. Rose never 
thought at any time of leaving him in the 
house alone without hiding the spoons, and 
Miss Elvira never left her gold Avatch un- 
guarded. 

Nobody knew whether the Dickey boy was 
aware of these lurking suspicions or not; he was 
so subdued that it was impossible to tell how 
much he observed. Nobody knew how home- 
sick he was, but he went about cverv day full 
of fierce hunger for his miserable old home. 
Miserable as it had been, there had been in it a 



certain element of shiftless ease and happiness. 
The Dickey boy's sickly mother had never 
chided him ; she had not cared if he tracked 
mud into the house. How anxiously he scraped 
his feet before entering tlie Rose kitchen. 
The Dickey boy's dissipated father had been 
gentle and maudlin, but never violent. All the 
Dickey children had done as they chose, and 
they had agreed well. They were not a quarrel- 
some family. Their principal faults were idle- 
ness and a general laxity of morals which was 
quite removed from active Avickedness. "All 
the Dickeys needed was to be bolstered up," 
one woman in the village said ; and the Dickey 
boy was being bolstered up in the Rose family. 

They called him Dickey, using his last name 
for his first, Avhich was Willy. Mrs. Rose 
straightened herself unconsciously when she 
found that out. " We can't have two Willies 
in the family, anyhow," said she ; " we '11 
have to call you Dickey." 

Once the Dickey boy's married sister came 
to see him, and Mrs. Rose treated her with 
such stiff politeness that the girl, who was fair 
and pretty and gaudily dressed, told her hus- 
band when she got home that she would never 
go into that woman's house again. Occasion- 
ally Mrs. Rose, who felt a duty in the matter, 
took Dickey to visit his little brothers and sis- 
ters at the almshouse. She even bought some 
peppermint-candy for him to take them. He 
really had many a little extra kindness shown 
him ; sometimes Miss Elvira gave him a penny, 
and once Mr. Hiram Fairbanks gave him a 
sweet-apple tree — that was really quite a mag- 
nificent gift. Mrs. Rose could hardly believe 
it when Willy told her. " Well, I must say I 
never thought Hiram would do such a thing as 
that, close as he is," said she. " I was terribly 
taken aback when he gave that tree to Willy, 
l)ut this beats all. Why, odd years it might 
bring in twenty dollars ! " 

" Uncle Hiram gave it to him," Willy re- 
peated. '•' I was a-showin' Dickey my apple- 
tree, and Uncle Hiram he picked out another 
one, and he give it to him." 

" Well, I would n't have believed it," said 
Mrs. Rose. 

Nobody else would have believed that Hiram 
Fairbanks, careful old Inu^helor that he was. 



1891. i 



THE DICKEV BOV 



6/ 



would have been so touched by the Dickey between times. Sometimes of an evening he 
boy's innocent, wistful face staring up at the sat soberly down with Willy and played check- 
boughs of Willy's apple-tree. It was fall, and ers, but Willy always won. - He don't try to 
the apples had all been harvested. Dickey beat," Willy said. Sometimes they had pop- 
would get no practical benefit from his tree com, and Dicke\ always shook the popper, 
until next season, but there was no calculating Dickey said he was n't tired, if they asked him. 



the comfort he took \\ ith it from the minute it 




■f,. 




*v.. 




••|Ht IKAKS STKUAMED DOWN HIS CHEEKS, Bl'T HE ONLV SHlKJK HIS HEAD 

IN THAT Ml'TE DRNIAU" 

came into his possession. Kvery minute he 
could get, at first, he hurried ofi' to the orchard 
and sat down under its Ijoughs. He felt as 
if he were literally under his own roof-tree. In 
the winter, wiicn it was heavy with snow, he 
di»l not forsake it. There would be a cirtle of 
little tracks around the trunk. 

.Mrs. Rose told her brother that the bo\ was 
perfectly cra/y about that ap|)le-tree. and Hiram 
grinned shamefacedly. 

All winter Dickey went with Willy to the dis- 
trict school, and split wootl and brought water 



All winter the silver spoons appeared on the 

table, anil Dickey was 
treated with a fair show 
of confidence. It was 
not until spring that the 
sleeping suspicion of him 
awoke. Then one day 
Mrs. Rose counted her 
silver spoons, and found 
only twenty-three tea- 
spoons. She stood at 
her kitchen table, and 
counted them over and 
over. Then she opened 
the kitchen door. '• El- 
vir\- 1 " she called out, 
■• Elviry, come here a 
minute ! Look here." 
■^he said in a hushed 
voice, when Miss Kl- 
\ ira's inquiring face had 
appeared at the door. 
Miss Elvira approached 
the table tremblingly. 

•• Count those spoons." 
said Mrs. Rose. 

Miss Elvira's long slim 
ringers handled the jing- 
ling spoons. ** There 
ain't but twenty-three," 
she saiil finally, in a 
scared voice. 
"I expecteil it." said Mrs. Ro^e. "Do \ou 
s'pose he took it ? " 

•• Who else look it, I 'd like to know ? " 
It was a beautiful May morning: the apple- 
trees were all in blossom. The Dickey boy 
had stolen over to look at his. It was a 
round hill of pink-and-white bloom. It was the 
apple year. W illy came to the stone wall and 
called him. •• I )ickey," he cried, " Mother 
wants you": and Dickey obeyed. Willy had 
run i>n ahea<l. He found Mrs. Ro.>e. Miss El- 
vira. Will), and the twenty-three tea.spoons 



ml- 



38 



THE DICKEY BOY 



[Nov. 



Toward night they grew uneasy. Mr. Fair- 
banks came, and they talked matters over. 

" Maybe he did n't take the spoon," said 
Mr. Fairbanks uncomfortably. " Anyhow, he 's 
too young a chap to be set adrift this way. I 
wish you 'd let me talk to him, 'Mandy." 

" Yoi/,^' said Mrs. Rose. Then she started 
up. " I know one thing," said she ; " I 'm 
goin' to see what 's in that wooden box. I 



awaiting him in the kitchen. He shook his 
head to every question they asked him about 
the missing spoon. He turned quite pale; once 
in a while he whimpered; the tears streamed 
down his cheeks, but he only shook his head in 
that mute denial. 

" It won't make it any easier for you, hold- 
ing out this way," said Mrs. Rose, harshly. 
" Stop cryin' and go out and split up some 
kindhn'-wood." 

Dickey went out, his 
little convulsed form 
bent almost double. 
AVilly, staring at him 
with his great, wonder- 
ing blue eyes, stood aside 
to let him pass. Then 
he also was sent on an 
errand, while his mother 
and Miss Elvira had a 
long consultation in the 
kitchen. 

It was a half hour be- 
fore Mrs. Rose went out 
to the shed where she 
had sent the Dickey boy 
to split kindlings. There 
lay a nice little pile of 
kindlings, but the boy 
had disappeared. 

" Dickey, Dickey ! " she 
called. But he did not 
come. 

" I guess he 's gone, 
spoon and all," she told 
Miss Elvira when she 
went in ; but she did not 
really think he had. 
When one came to think 
of it, he was really too 
small and timid a boy to 
run away with one silver 
spoon. It did not seem 

reasonable. What they did think, as time went don't believe but what that spoon 's in there. 
on and he did not appear, was that he was There 's no knowin' how long it 's been 
hiding to escape a whipping. They searched gone." 

everywhere. Miss Elvira stood in the shed by It was quite a while before Mrs. Rose re- 
the wood-pile, calling in her thin voice, " Come turned with the wooden box. She had to 
out, Dickey ; we won't whip you if you did take search for it, and found it under the bed. The 
it," but there was not a stir. Dickey boy also had hiildcn his treasures. 




THERE, AMONG THE BLOSSOIVUNG BRANCHES, CLUNG THE DICKEY BOV. 



fSgi. 



THE DICKEY BOV 



39 



She got the hammer and Hiram pried off the night, and hot water and blankets ready. But 

lid, which was quite securely nailed. " I 'd the day had fairly dawned before they found 

ought to have had it opened before," said she. the Dickey boy, and then only by the merest 

*' He had n't no business to have a nailed-up chance. Mr. Fairbanks, hurrying across his 

box round. Don't joggle it so, Hiram. There's orchard for a short cut, and passing Dickey's 

no knowin' what 's in it. There may be a tree, happened to glance up at it, with a sharp 



pistol." 

Miss Elvira stood Hirther off. Mr. Fair- 
banks took the lid entirely off. They all 
peered into the box. There lay. an old clay 
pipe and a roll of faded calico. Mr. Fair- 
banks took up the roll and shook it out. " It 's 
an apron," said he. " It 's his father's pipe, and 
his mother's apron — I — swan I " 

Miss Klvira began to cry. " I had n't any 
idea of anything of that kind," said Mrs. Rose 
huskily. " Willy Rose, what have you got 
there ? " 



pang of memory. He stopped short. There, 
among the blossoming branches, clung the 
Dickey boy, like a little drenched, storm-beaten 
bird. He had flown to his one sohtary pos- 
session for a refuge. He was almost exhausted ; 
his little hands grasped a branch like steel 
claws. Mr. Fairbanks took him down and 
carried him home. " He was up in his tree," 
he told his sister brokenly, when he entered the 
kitchen. " He 's 'most gone." 

But the Dickey boy revived after he had lain 
awhile before a fire and been rolled in hot 



For Willy, looking quite pale and guilty, blankets and swallowed some hot drink. He 

was coming in, holding a muddy silver tea- looked with a wondering smile at Mrs. Rose 

spoon. " Where did you get that spoon ? An- when she bent over him and kissed him just as 

swer me this minute," cried his mother. she kissed Willy. Miss Elvira loosened her gold 

"I — took it out to — dig in my garden with watch with its splendid long gold chain and 

the — other day. I — forgot — " ])ut it in his hand. "There, hold it awhile," 

" Oh, you naughty boy! " cried his mother, said she, '"and listen to it tick." Mr. Fairbanks 

Then she too began to weep. Mr. Fairbanks fumbled in his pocket-book and drew out a 

started up. " Something 's got to be done," great silver dollar. '• There," said he, " you can 

said he. "The wind 's changed, and the May have that to spend when you get well." 
storm is comin' on. That boy has got to be Willy pulled his mother's skirt. " Mother," 



found before night." 

But all Mr. Fairbanks's efforts, and the neigh- 
bors' who came to his assistance, could not find 
the Dickey boy before night or before the next 
morning. The long cold May storm began, the 
flowering apple-trees bent under it, and the 
wind drove the rain against the windows. Mrs. 
Hose and Miss Elvira kept the kitchen fire all 



he whispered. 
" What say ? " 

" Can't I pop some corn for him ? " 
'• By and by." Mrs. Rose smootheil the 
Dickey boy's hair; then she bent down and 
kissed him again. She had fliirly made room 
for him in her stanch, narrow New England 
heart. 




N -' i> V i ^'»» 



TO THE SUMMIT OF PIKE'S PEAK BY RAIL. 



By Lucie A. Ferguson. 



In the first decade of this century, Major 
Zebulon Pike gazed from afar at the grim slopes 
of the mountain named in his honor, and 
doubted if human foot would ever tread its sum- 
mit ; nor did he express this doubt lightly, as 
might one who had not made the endeavor, but 
as one who had put forth his best efforts and 
had been baftled at every turn by frowning 
steeps, chilling blasts, and fast-falling snow. 

Having reached the height of a much lower 
peak, now known as Cheyenne Mountain, he 
decided that further efforts would be but to 
incur an unnecessary risk for his small band 
of men, and therefore retraced his steps to the 
valley. 

Forty years or more passed by, and the mighty 
monarch yet reared aloft its proud head in seem- 
ing defiance of human touch, when another ven- 
turesome traveler contemplated the ascent of the 
mountain, and an exploration of the magnificent 
canons opening in every direction from his camp- 
ing ground. He had pitched his tent in a nook 
of surpassing beauty, wherein were situated nu- 
merous health-giving springs, a place where the 
Indians were accustomed to bring their sick 
that the " Manitou," the Great Spirit, might 
heal them by these life-renewing waters. 

Then a band of hostile Indians appeared in 
large numbers, and he who might have blazed a 
trail to those lonely heights was forced to make 
haste in his departure, and to " stand not on the 
order of his going." 

But the magic word " gold " had set in mo- 
tion many an emigrant wagon, and the lonely 
plains were soon marked by an almost continu- 
ous train, in one case, at least, bearing in visible 
letters on canvas, and in all, bearing in equally 
clear characters on the brows of the occupants, 
" Pike's Peak or bust ! " Some perished by the 
way; many reached the goal; but to each and 
all the grand old peak, now shrouded in clouds, 



now gleaming in the sunlight, stood a landmark 
for miles on miles of toilsome journeying. 

Not all of those who reached the goal were 
rewarded by the sight of the yellow metal ; but 
wealth is not counted wholly by nuggets, and 
many who failed in their search for gold found 
that which money cannot buy. The " Great 
Spirit " had not withdrawn his healing touch 
from the waters, though his dusky children no 
longer came to drink of them, and ere long the 
fame of sparkling springs and invigorating air 
was calling hundreds to the famous mountain 
who otherwise might never have seen it. 

Once at its base, there was an irresistible de- 
sire to climb its slopes, and soon a few intrepid 
spirits explored a rough and dangerous path 
that led almost to the top. But the vvay was 
very long and full of peril, so that only the hardi- 
est could travel it. 

After the completion of the transcontinental 
railroad, tourists and settlers poured into the 
country, transforming hamlets into cities, and 
this former Indian camp into a famous watering- 
place. Then a demand for amusement and ad- 
venture on the part of those whose time hung 
heavy on their hands in crowded hotel or cozy 
cottage led to the construction of a well-defined 
and not too hazardous path to the very summit 
of the mountain. Even then the trip was no 
child's play, and never was attempted without 
due deUberation and careful forethought as to 
the powers of endurance possessed by each 
member of a party. 

In time, the sure-footed burro became the all- 
important factor in a Pike's Peak journey, but 
that patient beast, with a size so comically dis- 
proportioned to his endurance, was destined to 
be ridiculed and berated by those whom lie had 
faithfully served. He was too slow or too stub- 
born ; the trip on his back was nearly as hard 
as if taken afoot ; the trail was steep, even to 



40 



■'^^■ 








li^^**^^ 



M . ^ 






J^ 



y'' 



-.4 





^•^ai 



■*'-■ 



ON THE WAV m THK StAIMII. 

4« 



I 



42 



TO THE SUMMIT OF PIKES PEAK BY RAIL. 



[Nov. 




IN THE OLD UAV; 



" pike's peak UK liLST 



■causing dizziness, and tlie more timid climbers 
preferred walking to riding; and altogether 
it was evident that the beast of the long ears 
must soon be retired to his much beloved 
obscurity. 

Indomitable pluck has been and will ever be 
an American characteristic. That which but a 
few years before would have been considered 
an impossibility became in 1889 an accom- 
plished fact. There was a carriage road in 
place of the narrow trail. To be sure, it zig- 
zagged and it twisted, it swept round dangerous 
■curves and it crept up steep inclines, but it 
brought the traveler to his goal, even though a 
whole day, and sometimes two and three days, 
were occupied in the task. 

^Vonderful as it was, the era of the carriage- 
road was destined to be the shortest in the his- 
tory of this historic mountain. 

A party of capitalists, having for some time 
foreseen the value of a railroad at this partic- 
Hilar spot, had decided to build one. 

Other mountains, not so high, had been 



climbed on railroad trains; why might not this 
one ? The very boldness of the scheme brought 
adherents ; soon a company was formed and 
work commenced. Unexpected difficulties, an- 
imate and inanimate, presented themselves on 
every hand. The surveying and grading of 
such a road were dangerous beyond conception, 
and as one difficulty after another was met and 
overcome only to be immediately succeeded by 
others more perplexing, it is no wonder that the 
promoters of the road sometimes wondered if it 
would ever be completed. 

In addition to all other trials, and more try- 
ing than any, was the trouble of keeping men at 
work at that altitude. Fresh causes for dissat- 
isfaction seemed to arise each day, and strikes 
were constantly impending. At length tlie pre- 
liminary work was completed, after nearly a year 
of diligent toil. The laying of the track and fin- 
ishing strokes, while being matters of extreme 
nicety and great care, were nevertheless accom- 
plished with fewer delays and less annoyance, 
so that the 20th of October, 1890, saw the driv- 



iSgi.] 



TO THE SUMMIT OF PIKES PEAK BY RAIL. 



43 

ing of the customary " golcten spike " ; and soon anchor-plates have been imbedded in the solid 
after the Pike's Peak Railroad was finished I rock, or sunk securely into the well ballasted 
Winter had come again to the hoary moun- roadbed. A system of cogwheels placed un- 
tain, and all thought of carrying tourists to its der the locomotive, and also under the coaches, 
summit was postponed till the following summer, gears with the rack-rails and gives a " pur- 
Could Zebulon Pike have looked upon that chase "in climbing, and a security in descending. 
])eak in the last decade of the nineteenth cen- The saucy little tip-tilted engine is con- 
tury he might have seen on the 30th day of structed in such a manner that the engineer's 
June, 1 89 1, a trail of .smoke that told of the ex- cab may stind level at the average grade. The 



ertions of a cog-wheel engine propelling, ant- 
like, its car-load of passengers. Early that 
morning an unusually eager party of ])leasure- 
seekers had boarded a luxurious train at Den- 
ver, had been whirled over the populous plains, 



seats in the coaches are also made movable and 
remain level, being self-adjusting to the slopes. 
After having had time to fully examine ever}- 
detail about this novel railroad, the travelers 
were glad to hear that the boulder had been 



across the steej) " divide," down again into the removed by a charge of giant-powder, ami that 

fertile valley, and after one change of cars had the track repairs would probably be completed 

been deposited at an attractive little station in by the time the party should arrive there, 

the very shadow of Pike's Peak. There they \\'ith eagerness increased by the dela\-, and 

expected to be taken immediately by the moun- the fear that perhaps the trip could not be ac- 

tain railroad and landed at the old signal-station complished, the car. .seating fifty people, was 

on the very tip-top, in good time for a one-o'clock filled in a twinkling; the little engine putted and 

luncheon! But a slight disappointment awaited snorted; the passengers gave a joyous hurrah. 



r^ 



them, delaying them several hours at Manitou. 
A boulder had fallen so as to block the track. 

Then came an inspection of the road, engine, 
and coaches. The system employed is that 
known as the Abt ; the road is of standard 
gage, and differs from 
ordinary roads in that 
continuous rack-rails pass 
midway between the outer 
rails, and upon this middle 
rail runs a cogwheel at- 
tached to the locomotive. 
The rack-rails, two in 
number, are set less than 
two inches apart, and are 
made of the best steel, 
cut from the solid piece 
by machines especially ~ 
constructed for tht; pur- 
pose. They are firmly set 
in the heaviest of timbers, 
and are so arranged as to 
break the jointings — that 
is, so that joinings of 
rails will not come directly opposite one another. 

To make assurance doubly sure, and to pre- 
vent any moving of the track, through variations 
of temperature or the great weight of the rails. 



and the first train to reach the top of Pike's 
Peak had started. 

From the beginning the way was so steep 
that not a few wondered at their hardihood in 
attempting the journey ; but as the steepest 




'TllK I.ITTl.b Tir-T11.TEI> E.NT.ISK-" 

grade was overcome almost at the outset, and 
as the wondrous landscape unfoKled itself, 
there was no room for other feelings than rev- 
erential awe for the natural surroundings and 



44 



TO THE SUMMIT OF PIKE S PEAK BV KAIL. 



[Nov. 



admiration of the enterprise that had constructed 
that truly marvelous road. 

Up we went, between frowning clifts or 
along dizzy slopes, past laughing cascades or 
foaming torrents, till the Half-way House was 
reached. There a stop was made, and the pas- 
sengers saw a rustic home almost hidden by 
trees and sheltered by towering mountains. This 
was the house that was of so much importance 
in the days of burro climbing, for here the real 
hardship of the trip began, and here after the 
long return journey was over, the weary excur- 



der. Everywhere ftature was grand beyond 
description, and the glimpses of the plain were 
given as if to say, " Behold how fair a land thou 
dwellest in ! " 

At the end of an hour the trees began to be 
stunted, with most of their limbs growing on 
the lower side ; flowers and ferns became less 
and less frequent; mosses and hchens on the 
rocks were more and more noticeable. 

At length we were above timber-line and 
had come almost to the place where the track 
had been wrecked. Here and there among the 










sionists were glad to rest before returning to 
Manilou. 

As tlie train made its slow ascent, there were 
at times such bewitching ghmpses of the low- 
lying valley as almost took the breath of be- 
holders. By a curious refraction of the air, the 
valley seemed on a level with the great height 
we had attained ; and, looking first at the rocky 
canon, then at the smiling valley, it seemed for 
an instant as if the heavens were opened and a 
new earth was let down to our sight. 

How can 1 describe the scenes we passed 
through ? Old mountain-climbers were speech- 
less before them ; novices were filled with won- 



IHE HAI.l-WAV HOLSE. 



rocks could be seen dainty yellow blossoms and 
forget-me-nots. They seemed to know that 
they need not be very big in order to be re- 
membered, for who having seen them growing 
so bravely there at the very edge of the snow 
could ever forget them ? 

Colder and colder grew the air, and every 
wrap was close-buttoned, every window closed. 
Before the windows were shut, a few of us had 
enjoyed the novelty of scraping snow from the 
banks piled on each side of the track by the 
laborers whu had shoveled it out a few days 
before. 

When we reached tlie broken track we found- 



1U91. 



TO lllE SUMMIT OF ITKKS TEAK liV RAIL. 



45 




Jl ^^:^ 



NKAKINO THE TOP. 



it was not repaired : but the conductor assured Who would not be patient with such grandeur 
us that if we would but be ])atient we should spread out to the view ? Far away the beauti- 
reach the top " if it took all night I " ful Sanpr de Crista range lifted its snowy peaks 




WIIBKb 1HF. DELAY OCCUREU 



46 



TO THE SUMMIT OF PIKE S PEAK BY RAIL. 



in the sunlit air ; green foothills in billowy ver- 
dure rolled between; seven glittering lakes 
revealed themselves to our delighted vision, and 
the frowning peak above looked down at us 
with awful grandeur. 

An hour and a half was spent here, and to 
the few who became restless the conductor ex- 
plained that the break must be accurately re- 
paired, or (impressively) the train would jump 
the track ! 

The rarefied air prevented long effort by the 
willing workmen, he said, but we should soon 
be on our way. 

" All aboard ! " rang out, the engine gathered 
itself for a mighty effort, and again we were 
going upward. Slowly we crept over the 
freshly made track, and gained the upper side 
amid hearty rousing cheers from workers and 
passengers. 

A steady climb, a curve, and — joy of joys! 
— we were at the summit. A cold wind greeted 
us as we left the coach, and we gladly crowded 
into the old signal-station, now used only as a 
hostelry for those caring to remain over night 
on the mountain. 

Standing in that room heated by an enor- 
mous stove, with outer doors closed and double- 
sash windows shut tight on that 30th day of 
June, we could not but wonder how bitter cold 
it would be were the month December instead 
of June ! 

The house is of stone, and seems a part of the 
mountain itself rather than a house built with 
human hands. 

The whole top of the peak is as if a deluge 
of boulders, shattering as they fell, had poured 
down upon the mountain's hoary head. Gran- 
ite and snow are everywhere, and mother earth 
under all, hidden from sight. 

And the stillness of the spot! — no sound of 
bird or insect or ceaseless toil of man ; silence 
primeval, oppressive, absolute, such as reigned 
here before man was and will reign when he 
is no more. 

With almost a start we were recalled to every- 
day affairs. The enterprising photographer was 



ready to " snap " this historic party, and we were 
urged to arrange ourselves artistically, and to 
look pleasant becomingly. 

The picture was taken, the train boarded,, 
and soon the visit to Pike's Peak was only a de- 
lightful memory. Owing to the delays, Denver 
was not reached until 11. 15 that night, fifteen 
hours after the departure in the morning, but 
what pioneer would ever have believed the 
ascent could be accomplished in a few hours ? 

Is it any wonder that next morning as we 
looked to the south and saw the mighty peak 
towering above all others, we felt a new rever- 
ence for it and an interest that amounted 
almost to ownership ? 




' NOW WE CAN REST. 



(3 





AFTER THE GAME. 




By Benjamin Webster. 



\\'AS '"regulation size" 
To the sporting- 
dealer's eyes ; 
He strongly recom- 
mended me,and praised 
me to the skies. 
So some quiet-looking men 
Chose me as best of ten. 
They handled me most tenderly and said I was 

a '• prize " ! 
But on Thanksgiving Day 
Their kindness passed away. 
They took me to some kind of game. Im- 
agine my dismay 
When I was taken out 
'Mid a crowd ranged all about, 
And a tyrant in an ulster invited us to " Play ! " 
I did n't care to stay ; 
But was not asked to say. 
They seemed to think I wished to be the center 

of the fray. 
They kicked me everywhere, 
They struggled in despair, 

They fell wyow me, " jiunted " me, and drove me 
far away. 



They cried out " Down \ " or " Held l " 

The\- " dropped on " me and yelled, 

Till I feared my vital breath would be forcibly 

expelled ! 
They " drop-kicked " me " for goal," 
And over me would roll. 
As if I were a hard-boiled egg, refusing to be 

shelled. 
When they were through with me 
I was a sight to see ! 
Begrimed and scratched on every ?ide, they 

bore me home in glee. 
Hung up in silken fetters, 
1 was marked in gilded letters. 
" Cha.mimons of XiNErv-ONF." — whatever 

//la/ may be. 

It 's not that I complain : 

But if you can explain 

The reasons for maltreating me, 't would ease a 

puzzled brain. 
I come from over seas, 
And will ask you, if you please, 
'i'he reason for subjecting me to such a fearful 

strain I 




47 



HOW THEY RIDE. 

By Eva L. Carson. 

^A 'ill 




Bravely comes the gentleman, 
Trotting nimbly as he can; 
Lifts his hat to Meg and Dot 
As he passes— trot, trot, trot. 







HOW THEY RIDE. 



49 



Now the postboy follows fast, 
Gallop, gallop — ah, he's past, 
Spares not spur, but shakes the rein, 
Gallops on with might and main. 



Next there comes the country boy, 
Many a jump, and hobbledy-hoy. 
Bumpety-bump ! — if he fall down, 
Ten to one he cracks his crown! 



This is the way the ladies ride. 
Gently pacing, side by side, 
Backward and forward, to and fro. 
See, my darling, how they go. 



Pace, and gallop, and trot, my dear, 
So they 've traveled for many a year; 
But none of them all can happier be 
Than Goldilocks on her father's knee 





Vol. .\L\. — 4. 



RUSSIAN CHILDREN IN THE URAL MOUNTAINS. 



By David Ker. 



Travelers who have crossed over into Asia door-posts striped black and white Uke bar- 
by way of Eastern Russia will have passed bers' poles. This is the post-house, where you 
through a broken, hilly tract of country, rising will have to change horses before going on. 
finally into the steep, rocky range which again. 

is marked on the maps as the Ural Moun- There are people enough to be seen here^ 

tains. They are not very mountainous, to be and a very picturesque set they are. Big, yel- 

sure, the highest point being only about five low-haired men, in high boots, wearing red cal- 

thousand feet ; but if you try to cross them ico shirts outside their other clothes ; hulking 

in a heavy wagon you will find them quite lads, hot and dusty from their work in the 

steep enough. fields, laughing and playing tricks upon each 

The first thing you see of them, as you other like so many school-boys; sunburned wo- 
come from the west, is a succession of bare, men, with crimson scarfs wound turban-fashion 
stony uplands, separated here and there by a around their hard, wooden faces, and bare- 
deep gully, through which a tiny stream, al- footed girls, carrying home their two pails of 
most dried by the heat of summer, goes chafing water upon a curved yoke, which, instead of 
and foaming among the gravel. Then come crossing both shoulders, is balanced upon one, 
rolling waves of steep grassy hills, growing so that one pail hangs in front and the other is- 
higher and higher with every mile, and at last behind her. 

appear the genuine " Uralskiya Gori^' with And as for the children — why, the whole 

their black, frowning rocks and headlong tor- place seems peopled with them ! You can 

rents, deep, narrow valleys, clustering trees scarcely stir without running against some lit- 

perched upon overhanging chfis, and great tie brown-faced, round-eyed figure, with no' 

masses of dark mountain rising up on both cap but its own matted hair, and, indeed, lit- 

sides as if to bury the road and all who may tie clothing of any kind except a light shirt or 

venture upon it. pinafore. In these warm, bright summer days,. 

In some places the hills are so steep that you the whole hillside is their playground, and a 
have to get out and walk, while your horses jolly life they have of it. Sometimes they are 
pick their way up and down as gingerly as a out all day in the woods, gathering firewood or 
man walking on a tight-rope ; and, perhaps, in picking mushrooms, their dinner being eaten 
another half-hour or so, you find yourself upon the smooth turf, under the shade of some 
splashing through a stream that flows directly spreading tree. Then, too, there are always 
across the road. Altogether, it is hardly the plenty of horses to be taken down to the wa- 
sort of country that many people would care ter, and it is fun for the boys to ride them bare- 
to live in ; yet plenty of people do live in it, backed down the steep slopes, and to go splash- 
and think themselves fortunate, too. Every ing about in the stream, laughing and shouting 
now and then, in traversing all these ups and to each other till the lonely hillside is as lively 
downs, you come suddenly upon a litde patch and noisy as any nursery. And to see the 
of level turf, on which some fifty or sixty log horses themselves prance, and shake their manes^ 
huts cluster around a tall, green church-tower, and toss their heads about, and splash up the 
as chickens gather under the wings of the water, you would think tliat they enjoyed the 
mother-hen; and if you look among them, you sport quite as much as did the little riders, 
will soon notice one bigger than the rest, with Besides, there is no lack of games for the chil- 

50 



RUSSIAN CHILDREN IN THE URAL MOUNTAINS. 



51 



dren to play. They have quite as many as 
other children. There is " Wolf and Lamb," 
which resembles your hide-and-seek ; and there 
is a game something like nine-pins, but played 
with long pieces of bone. Then there is " Tcha- 
sovoi'' (sentinel), which is played by setting one 
boy to walk up and down a line traced on the 
ground, while the rest try to leap over it with- 
out being caught. Sometimes the sentinel is 
blindfolded, and then every one who crosses the 
line has to warn him by first giving a shout. 

Then, too, as the highroad passes right 
through these mountains, there are always 
plenty of wagons and post-cars going back- 
ward and forward, during the fine summer 
weather. It is not unusual for the httle people 
to run after them and to beg a ride, and very 
seldom indeed do they meet with a refusal. I 
remember, a few years ago, as I was crossing 
these very mountains to join the Russian sol- 
diers who were setting out to march over the 
great desert beyond, a little dot of a girl, whose 
mother lived a mile or so out of the village 
through which I was passing, came toddling 
up to the side of my wagon, and holding up 
her little brown arms to me, cried out, " Yekhat, 
yekJhU .' (Ride, ridel)" So I took her up be- 
side me, and gave her a ride as far as her mo- 
ther's door; and by the way she clapped her 
hands and shouted on the way, I should say 
she enjoyed her ride very much. 

But everything is very difterent when the ter- 
rible Russian frost sets in, and hill and valley 
alike become one great sheet of white. Very 
bare and dreary do these green, sunny slopes 
look in the winter months, with a few leafless 
trees standing gauntly up through the drifts, 
and the fierce, cold wind howling down the 
passes, driving great showers of snow along 
with it. No more light clothing, no more bare 
heads then. Kvery one, whether a child or 
grown-up, is muffled in a great thick sheepskin 
frock reaching down to the feet, with a big col- 
lar turning up all round the face, till you can 
hardly see who it is. 

But the little Russians are not afraid of the 
cold, and have amusements in winter as well as 
in summer. Wiien the sun is bright, and there 
is no snow falling, they can go out upon the 



hills with their sleds — for they have sleds 
there, of course, and these little mountain-peo- 
ple are quite as fond of them, and as clever in 
managing them, as any children in the world. 
Famous sliding do they have down these great 
slopes, and fine rosy faces do they win by it, 
and wonderful appetites do they carr}- home 
with them to their suppers of brown bread and 
kasha (buckwheat porridge mixed with butter), 
after the fun is over. 

And in the stormy evenings, when the grim 
northeast wind comes howling over the wild, 
lonely mountains, bringing with it all the cold 
of the frozen wastes of Siberia, when the great 
flakes are falling so thick and fast that no one 
can see an inch beyond the window, and far up 
among the hills you can hear at times the crash 
of a tree breaking down under the weight of 
the snow, — then is the time for the little folks 
to cuddle around the warm stove, and to roast 
chestnuts in the embers, and for the older boys 
to make baskets or twist ropes, and for the big- 
ger girls to plait straw mats. And then their 
old grandmother, sitting at her spinning, on a 
stool in the warmest comer, with a red hand- 
kerchief around her dark, wrinkled old face, 
which looks just like an oak-carving, will tell 
them some (juaint old fairy tale or some stor)- 
out of Russian history — perhaps about Ivan 
Veliki, who beat the Tatars, or Peter the 
Great, who built St. Petersburg, or the brave 
men who burned their great city of Moscow to 
drive away Napoleon. 

Sometimes the children take thfir turn, and 
sing a funny little song about the " white geese," 
as they call the snow flakes: 

D.nddy, daddy Winter, 

Let your white geese fly ; 
Send the wind to drive them 

All across the sky ! 

Bend the tossing pine-trees. 
Make the hard earth split — 

Snug around the fireside 
We don't fear a bit! 

•And I don't suppose they do ; for in spite 
of their wild country and their rough cli- 
mate, these little Russians are a very merry 
race indeed. 




^^a.d(i tkc pi«, Qnt ^J^e^^d^7 //s^erninq , 
pi^nfy of yippl«s io ivice thin slices •— 
picnfy of $uq»r, AAci vAcious spites *•» 

OH, my! OH»*>^y« 



Drou9hlr Ihe rollinq-pin, boArd An£l pan; 

BtsKcd up :lhe apples tlMt-t tun^bled ftfeoui'. 

QH«»ny! 0(****^y* 
Qn& »ltAfAy$ needs {Vigils' V4«tt« i>,t\ Appift pie ! 



5*** v>«e.ttJi«d tKc f^ftKmcjj cnee •«» a wKiie 
CK« peepaot At* Ihe pi«, and •^ m^de Kcr smilft 
Y© see or» ■ilrte icp a littla Rrcwrv spftf— . 

That wi>S A J[^a*uttfwt y^ppia ptc ! 



52 




Ca;a '.r was [o)©^* and {D)r«w '»f ouf — 
QuT of rhc ovcr», niosf CArefutl>.y ^ 

^ pretficr P«e you nev«6- i»v4tJ see : 

CO she ^q^cc^Arcc^, wifK A joyful shotkt*." 

y^ [o)eiicio«5, [o)cJ»cAre Apple pic ! 



5he IP"** «^ ''<3 cool^ 5*^« s»»c* "114 nice 
|tS fu'^ of £kppl«s Artd SuqA,r arvd Spice ''' 
"I'd iiKe. 0. piece)' sK€ said to Kcrsalf ,'■> 

Ok\, Mty ! Ol^, my! 

>^ piec« of iKat jpreciouj Appl« P»c '■ 



p^ai-v 1o the garden to -rclJ tKc others . 

Yha boys were piAvinq a q»m« of bail , 
"fiicy threw dotwn ikicir bA^s iMhen thcy hcArd 'i( aU 
Anc4 Raced 1o the hou^e cryinej -'^n^c en brctlicr?'" 

0*», my • 0*». «»y* 

Y^cy wanted -Jo sec Iho^r j^cmarKable pic! 



^art\e firstr e>nd he (^oAncd &iid (grtctl - 

Rut the qirls dii answered him - No , (V/o, ^O. 

Vou (gi!kr>k' have any, you'd better qo ! "= 

I'hAr App'*? P»« »S our ^oy and pride .' ' 

©H. my ! Oh, my f 

V\/^»A^' (S^** such A (g^hArnAiuij AfF"*^ P** " 

8 

Ruf r? woi jhoi-r And lKe $K«lf . wAi KigK; 
f-(e or»ty 9or A mere Peep ■**• iKe P"J — 

And SO wifK [£i->wy he jtowled And frowvrvcd , 

)-(e scowied af thj»t |^le<j»i-«r ^ppU p.« 



'^hioad iKi^r was '^orsf ot aII , 

(^ ^l dent IiKp fo Tell you hiS n*mf ") 

/^ r*bbad for 1h« Pic .M\d (^j^'' '^(bcvd fo>)l — 

J-Je wi\s (Cjr«o6y ^vDov,r fh^f APP'S P'*^ ' 



53 




lO 

n leineci At once in fhe v>/i«keci ploT — 

"=[1^ TooK Jt- dowr>, if was g)l'ill quite hcl* — 
^rvci 'yp i p -'TJ'o e ci ivvi/ay, vwUhout any noijo. 

^o they gtoU th3>|r ^upcrior ^^ppla pic ! 

11 

cUad Si" up irt kis eiosai*, rtcJcJ*^ — 
gui- n rirtquirccl of ftvery on« t «— ' 
f-{2iV« yow an n '^'^ wKer« our Die h»s €fOna f 

/^rvci all ihe 9irls wer« Jlnciiqrtant* and vexed. 

O*^ n>y! O^ my? 

H*d tJ^ey [Josf thevt jlovelicsi- APP'^ p»< ? 

IS 

nnndertooK to jT/jnearfK if at orvcA . 

0)0 QuicKly s*id - W«*il join lt\ iKe (^uail"» 



V^ " iooK -iK« n^«ys. and followed IKq rest". 

But didni" JWnow wh«rc to find it", the dwnce, 
QK Mr»y! QH rwy! 

How lh€y sorrowed And scorched for 1h»f /Vpf'^ P*' * 

13 

0)werlooUad It', buf lher\ sh« was (S)'<^t 

/Vnd sKe wobld'nf (o)w/r» Kow sho»-t was K«r S«9ht- 
ri" [^I'nftily [^ound it and d»ne«d witK deli<^ht, 
/^5 5i>e fT'iung 'Ihc door opan ihu pia "fo treholci' 

QK my! O^ rr»yl 

Thait- fs^Amows^ r?*kbuiou5 ^ppie Pi* I 

V^^^cd frotw K«r [j\]ap on Ked.rtng iKe (^als« . 

|r>to Ihe closet she [j^awughlity r&n ^ 
/\ncl to [};3''=>'''« * ^'^ °^ ^'^^ crust* fcegAn — ' 

Ru)* the qirls aII scolded «vnd so did ihe boys • 
Ot^ my! O^ imy! 

^he D^ibbUd lK»>t jsccrlass App'« P'^^ • 

15 

^^otad to fvAve it for dmnar that day — 

^o A'^swcrcd for ^U;- "J"© ih^t wc ^grca '' 
<he ^rrAn9ed the tatbtc with joy And ^lec ^ 
" ^e'll FAT *"*■ pie ~ Thdi's iho wisest way''' 

=^ O** «f»y? O*^ my! 

fhcy were ^oi'n^ lo es.f that A&forvtshin^ P/c . 



54 




01- A S^arvy . i>r\cl mAU« her cry, 



16 

bi-ouqKr io ^^fr<N pla>fes for rhe pia 

5*.ci jha"! y^pact wt'il oeaa iKcon all,'" 
'^ ^7«*lously vyiped rKcm , At\ck let" on« f ^ll 
^o lK«y c»ll«ci K 

0*% my? O*^ rrwy! 
■J"hay becy^n To ti^r it", Thar y^ci3tl«i>T pi« 

17 

V^dS Iha '^j^uncjcst — Just Two "^^Ars oitl — 

yhs).' brought his Kiqh chftir and f«$rar\aci ham. in , 
"J"i6cl d r»*.pKn-i ur> dsr his cK«r», 

^»va him ex b.t- o/ crust" 1o hold 

QK my' Oh nrvy ! 
Jh«y /efr noT Ok Crumb of iKaf /\ppia pift . 






€^ 












N 



U' 









55 







By Marjorie Richardson. 



You see, Uncle Jack started it by calling 
Launce and me Knights of the Round Table. 
We were just getting over a severe fever and 
had come to the part where it 's so stupid — 
you feel too well to stay in bed and you don't 
feel well enough to go down-stairs. The only 
thing we could get any fun out of was eating, 
and we spent so much time sitting at the little 
light stand in Launce's room, that Uncle Jack 
began to call us " The Knights of the Round 
Table." 

He used to tell us long stories every evening 
about King Arthur's court. They were prime 
stories, too. We both wished we had lived in 
those days, and had had a chance at slaying 
the king's enemies, and smashing down the 
castle walls. We told Uncle Jack so the night 
before he went away, and he said there was no 
reason why we could n't be knights now just as 
well as then. 

" Here 's Launcelot, already," he said ; " and 
Jim can be Sir Galahad." 

" Then you shall be our King Arthur," said 
Launce, " and while you 're away we '11 try to 
win honors for you." 

"You should win honors for some fair 
maiden," said Uncle Jack, laughing. " There 's 
Susan Briggs, for instance — it would n't hurt 
you to practise a little chivalry toward her." 

Launce looked rather sober, though I don't 



see why he should, for he never teased Susan 
as I did. 

She lived near us, and when we told her 
about our being Knights of the Round Table 
she thought it was great fun, and said she 
wanted to come into the game, too. So she 
read up some of the stories, and one day 
she came over with a curtain-cord around her 
waist for a girdle, and her hair down her back, 
and said she had decided to be Elaine, the Lily 
Maid of Astolat. 

I hollered. I could n't help it. The idea of 
Susan Briggs with her carroty hair and freckles 
being the Lily Maid nearly finished me. She 
grew very red when I laughed, but she did n't 
say anything. She only kept her eyes fixed 
anxiously on Launce, and waited for him to 
speak. He looked away from her, but I saw 
the corners of his mouth twitch before he an- 
swered. Then he said : 

" All right, Susan, there 's no reason why you 
should n't be the Lily Maid if you want to, 
though I don't care for that sort of rubbish 
myself." 

" But, Launce," she cried, " it is n't rubbish. 
Some parts of it are splendid — that place 
where she died and they floated her down the 
river to the queen's court, in a barge all fitted 
up with cloth-of-gold and lilies and — things." 

•' Lots of fun she must have had out of it if 

S6 



LAU^XELOTS TOWER. 



57 



she was dead," said I. " They might just as 
well have sent her down in a scow, so far as 
she knew." 

" You see, the knights always had to have 
some fair damsel to fight for," she continued, 
without paying any attention to me. 

"Stuff:" said I crossly. "Let them fight 
for their king. What 's the use of having girls 
in it, anyway ? " 

" Why not ? " said Susan, flashing round at 



"Cracky! I trow not too," said I. coming 
down in a hurry. " We had better go back and 
see ? " 

It did n't take us long to get to the field, but 
we stopped this side of the wall and looked 
about for the bull. 

Farmer Hale had been clearing up his land 
that afternoon, and there was a great brush-heap 
smoking away in the middle of the field, just 
this side of an old windmill. We were afraid 
me. " Can't a girl be brave and loyal as well the bull was hiding over there behind it, so we 



as a boy ? " 

" Of course she can," said Launce hastily, 
scowling at me. " I '11 be your knight, and I '11 
wear your colors in the fray, fair Elaine." 

"What are they? — red?" said I, and Susan 
went home mad. 

After she had gone, Launce told me he 
thought it was mean to laugh at her. She was 
homely, of course, but she might outgrow it in 
time. I said she 'd better wait till she did, be- 
fore she called herself Elaine; but I felt ashamed 
of myself, and was careful after that to call her 
the Lily Maid. 

Well, we had a splendid time that summer. 
We used to have tournaments in the big field 
on the other side of the river. The Lily ^Laid 
had an old white horse which she called her 
" palfrey," and when we borrowed it for our 
jousts we called it the " fiery steed." We used 
to draw lots to see which two of us should ride 
to the meadow, for it was a long way from the 
house. 

The day before we expected Uncle Jack 
home, we were going up to the field to prac- 
tise for a grand tourney, and that time the Lily 
Maid and I drew the longest lots and .started 
ahead on the steed. When we reached the 
field, we sat tlown under a big tree and waited 
for Launce; but he ilid n't come. 

" I would that the valiant Sir Launcelot would 
brace up," said I, after a while, "for yonder .sable 
cloud forbodes a rattling old thunder-storm." 

*• I would he would," saiil the T^ily Maid, be- 
ginning to fidget. She hated thunder-storms. 

I climbed a tree to see if Launce were coming, 
but he was n't in sight. 

'• I trow our brave knight did n't try to cut 
across lots where Farmer Hale's red bull is," 
called up the Lily ^Lai<l. 



just stood on the wall and shouted for Launce. 

The thunder-storm was nearer now, the crashes 
and lightning .seemed to come at almost the 
same minute, and the wind was blowing a reg- 
ular hurricane. The Lily Maid looked white 
enough, even through her freckles, but she did n't 
say a word about going home, for by that time 
we both were pretty well scared about Launce. 

Between the peals of thunder, we began to 
hear a queer noise in the direction of the wind- 
mill. The Lily Maid and I started for it on a 




THE LILV M.MI) OF ASTOU\T. 

run, keeping an eye out all the tunc tor the 
bull. .\s we drew nearer, the noise became a 
louil roar, and above it all we could hear shouts 
from Launce. 



5S 



LAUNCELOTS TOWER. 



[Nov. 



" Jiminy ! " said I, " I believe that Launce A big gust of wind swept across the field at 

and the bull are shut up together in the wind- this moment, nearly taking the Lily Maid and 

mill." me off our feet. It brought with it a cloud of 

" Are you in there, Launce ? " screamed the dust and dry leaves, and the great brush-heap, 

Lily Maid, and then we could hear his voice which till now had been smoldering quietly, 

from 'way above us : suddenly blazed up and began to scatter sparks 

" Yes, I am. I 'm up where the shafting is. in every direction. 

That bull chased me in here, and he 's ramping The Lily Maid screamed and seized my arm. 

around underneath me. He 's shut the door "The sparks are falling on the mill," she 




"launce came staggering out of the Mll.l., HALF CHOKED BY IHK SMOKE." (SEF: NEXT PAGE.) 



on himself in some way, and now he can't get 
out, and neither can I ! " 

All this time the thunder was crashing louder 
than ever and the bull was bellowing like mad. 
I looked through a crack and could see him 
tearing round and round in a circle, and could 
just catch a glimpse of Launce, crouching on a 
beam and scowling down at him. They looked 
so funny that I could n't help laughing. 

" This is indeed a woful plight, O brave Sir 
Launcelot," I l)egan. " Now is the time to 
show your ])rowess. What doughty deed — " 



shouted with her mouth close to my ear. " It 
will be on fire in a second. We must get 
Launce out." 

" Great Caesar's ghost ! What 's the mat- 
ter ? " called Launce in a scared voice. " The 
air is full of smoke. Is anything on fire ? " 

A little blaze burst out from the roof. I 
gave one look at it, and then started across the 
fields as fast as I could go. 

" I '11 get help," I shouted. " Tell Launce 
to hold out a few minutes longer." 

But as I vaulted the fence I heard a shriek 



I89I. 



LAUNCELOTS TOWER. 



59 



from the Lily Maid. I turned and saw the top 
of the old mill all ablaze. 

For a second I could n't move; then the 
peril Launce was in came over me, and I 
leaped the fence and started back on a run. 
But the Lily Maid was before me. She had 
her hand on the door, and I knew what she 
was going to do. 

'• Don't oi)cn that door : " 1 yelled. " You '11 
be killed. Wait for me." 

She hesitated a moment, and I saw her catch 
her breath and look up at the burning roof, 
and then — 

" You '11 be too late I " she screamed, and she 
tlung the door wide open. 

Out dashed the bull in a blind fur\-. He 
knocked over the Lily Maid in liis first wild 
rush, but the smoke seemed to madden him 
and he did not stop, but gave a fearful roar 
and galloped across the fields. 

It did n't take me long to get to her, and as 
I knelt down by her side Launce came stag- 
gering out of the mill, half choked by the 
smoke. He looked at her in a dazed sort of 
way, but did n't say a word till I shook him 
by the shoulder. 

'• Help me lift her, Launce. We must get 
her away from here — out of the smoke," said 
I, for her face was very white. 

Then he said : " She 's dead, is n't she, 
Jim?" and lifted her all by himself and car- 
ried her across the field as if he did n't feel her 
weight at all. He put her down under a tree, 
and I ran as fast as I could and brought some 
water from the brook. 



Soon she opened her eyes, and after staring 
at us for a moment she said dreamily : 

•• ' That day there was dole in Astolat.' " 

" Don't talk like that, Susan," said I quickly, 
and Launce's face grew a shade whiter, but 
she went right on : 

" I know I made a funny Elaine, but I did 
so want to be brave and loyal as — well — 
as — " But she could n't finish the sentence. 
She put both hands wearily to her head and 
closed her eyes again. 

I tell you it 's rather hard on a fellow to 
have the mean things he 's said brought up to 
him at a time like that, and my voice was so 
choked for a minute that I could hardly answer. 

" There 's no need to talk of being brave, 
Susan, after what you 've just done." 

" You're worth ten of us, Susan ! " said Launce 
in a very low voice, " and after this we '11 al- 
ways be your true knights." 

And — well, there is n't much more to tell. 
Susan was ill for several weeks, and the ne.xt 
time we saw her she was so thin and white 
that she might have called herself the Lily 
Maid in good earnest. 

One day, when she was nearly well, we three 
walked down to the meatlow together. We 
leaned over the wall and looked at the ruins of 
the old windmill. 

" Sir Launcelot's tower ! " said Susan, with a 
little laugh. " Methinks it seems a sorry rest- 
ing-place for the chief of knights." 

" It would have been a good deal sorrier 
resting-place if it had n't been for the Lily Maid 
of Astolat," said I seriously. 




THE BARBER OF SARI-ANN. 



By Jack Bennett. 




^"S'o.^.V,"^ S 'cv*\t."W- 



It was ages ago, at the Sari- Ann fair, 

The king called the court barber to shave his 
face bare, 

But to make the least scratch on his skin, — if 
he dare ! 

Then the barber's assistant made haste to pre- 
pare 

Lather, sponges, and towels, as usual there. 

Strapped the strip of a razor-strop tied to the 
chair. 

Brought the eau-de-cologne to put on the king's 
hair. 
And the barber began with the shaving. 



Up and down, all around, the alert razor 
sped, 

Till, in one most unfortunate moment of 
dread. 

The king's nose, with a bridge hke the roof of a 
shed. 

Struck the razor, which, coasting along like a 
sled. 

Slipped, and chipped from its tip one diminutive 
shred ! 

Like a streak of greased lightning the poor bar- 
ber fled. 




When a band, marching by in 

a rollicking way. 
Played a bit of a jig such as 

circus-bands play ; 
And the king, who was feeling 

quite merry that day. 
Beat the time with a nod of 

his head as he lay, ■ 

Loudly whistling the tune, ere the barber could While the king pursued, foaming with rage, as 

say he said, 

That to whistle while under a razor won't pay : " There shall never be any more shaving ! 

(When a king says to shave, why, a man must 

obey, "Ne'er again shall a whisker be cut in this 

So the barber went right along shaving). land ; 

60 



THE BARBER OF SARI-ANN. 



6i 



Or a razor so much as be held in the hand; Though they plaited them, matted them, 

Or an edged tool be used to cut beards! — un- wrapped them around 

derstand ? From their heads to their toes, coil on coil. 

Shears and all are included in this stem com- pound on pound : 

mand ! " Who removes them wins fame to forever re- 
All oftenders shall be buried, living, in sand, sound, 
Parboiled, cut in sausage-meat, pickled and And he '11 get half the kingdom for shaving." 

canned, 




And sealed with the government pork-packer's One fine day, down the road that approached 

brand ! " Sari- Ann, 

So the barbers all gave up their shaving. Strode a stranger, abstractedly framing a plan 

To take oft' those beards without breaking the 
Then the whiskers grew up, and the whiskers ban. 

grew down. Now, this stranger had traveled in far Hindu- 

And the whiskers grew gray, and the whiskers stan, 

grew brown — Timbuctoo, Totolapa, Toorookhansk, and Toor- 

Mustapha ! There soon were more whiskers fan, 

than town ! — 
And so long grew the king's that they covered 

his gown. 
Then the monarch announced, with a terrible 

frown : 
" For a shave without cutting I '11 give half my 

crown ! 
Get to work, now, ye wits, and ye men of re- 
nown. 
To devise some new method of shaving." 

But the years rolled along, and no way could 

be found, 
From the clouds up above, or from under tlie 

ground. 
To remove the array. So did wliiskers abound. 
Their prodigious great lengths did all tourists 

astound. 




62 



THE BARBER OF SARI-ANN. 



[Nov. 




Pole to pole, zone to zone, from Beersheba to 

Dan ; 
And he felt that he was the identical man 
That could amputate beards without shaving. 

In the square by the palace he set up his shop ; 
Not a cup, or a lather-brush, razor, or strop. 
Nor of bay-rum, pomatum, or hair-oil one drop. 
In fact, nothing at all — just a big sign on top 
That made every one stare, that made every one 

stop. 
That made every one glare, with both eyes on 

the pop : 
" King, courtier and cavalier, warrior and fop, 

I CAN TAKE OFF THE BEARD WITHOUT 
SHAVING ! " 

Each observer flew home all his neighbors to 

bring, 



Just to look at this very improbable thing, 
And the rumor ran round like a bull in a ring 
Till it came to the palace. Then up rose the 



king ; 



" Bring him here. If he fail in this task, he 

shall swing 
By the nape of his neck from the end of a 

string ! 
If he win, all my wealth at his feet I will fling, 
This madman who shaves without shaving." 

Then the king and the court and court-coun- 
selors three. 
Men-at-arms, knights and squires, a brave sight 

to see, 
And the populace crowding the grand gallery, 
All assembled to witness what necromancy 
This weird stranger might use that all whiskers 
should flee. 



I- Can Take 
Offt/^Beardc 

Witiiovt-flidvin^: 




1891. 



THE BARBER OF SARI-AXN. 



63 



What strange magic arts, what fell mystery. 
What grim abracadabra this system might be 
To get rid of beards without shaving ! 

'-' Now promise, O Sire, since my life is at stake, 
That all methods, not cutting, I 've freedom to 

take : 
That you will not once ask me my task to for- 
sake, 
Else you give me your kingdom, land, river, 

and lake." 
The king promised a promise he never could 

break. 
When a huge pair of pincers that made his 

knees quake 
Were produced by the barber with threatening 

shake — 
" Now," said he, " we '11 go on with the 

shaving I " 

Then he smiled a grim smile and secured a firm 

grip 
With his pincers upon the king's beard, gave a 

flip. 
And pulled ten long hairs with a snap like a whip ! 
With a hop and a howl the king clutched at 

his lip, 




And there must be, beside those, ten thousand 

as stout; 
And before you could pull every separate sprout, 
I would be everlastingly — gone up the spout I 
It may amuse you and the crowd, I 've no 

doubt. 
But it 's murder for me I Take the crown, — take 

the gout I 
Take the land with its gold, take the sea with 

its trout. 
Take it all — but excuse me from shaving ! " 



" Nay, I want not your crown : work is plenty 

for me ; 
High hving with hair-cutting does not agree. 
Reconsider your edict and leave each man free 
To be shaved or unshaven a.s jileasanter be : 
For a king's stanchest prop is his leniency. 
And, though men, now and then, scratch their 

noses, maybe 
A king's eyes should be wide enough open to see 
There are many worse evils than shaving." 

Then the king arose meekly and said that he 
guessed 

He had paid pretty dear for his share of the 
jest. 

I'hat his edict was wrong, he then freely con- 
fessed : 

All persons might shave. .\s for him, he 'd be 
blessed 

If he did n't give shaving and shavers a rest! 
" Why, just see. you have pulled only ten bris- But would still act asking — if the barber thought 
ties out, best 




Crying, " Crickets ! If this is the way that you 

strip 
A beard ofl" without using the scissors to snip. 
Or a razor to shave, or an edged tool to clip. 
I have got all I want of your shaving ! 



64 



THE BARBER OF SARI-ANN. 




And would be his Chief Chancellor, with a be- 
quest 
Giving him all the Sari- Ann shaving. 

Then there came by the dozen, there came by 

the score. 
Ninety thousand, nine hundred and seventy-four 
(So the censuses said ; but it surely was more) 
Wanting shaves who had never been shaven be- 
fore, 
All awaiting their turns at the barber's front 

door; 
While the round dollars rolled in a ceaseless 
downpour, 



Till the boxes and bags of gold covered the 
floor. 
And the barber grew weary with shaving. 

And the sum of his wealth when the business 

was done 
Outweighed a fat elephant more than a ton. 
Then he bought out the king and the kingdom, 

for fun. 
Made the monarch his agent, the business to 

run, 
And he said, " Of all proverbs the best is this 

one : 
' A wise barber sticks to his shaving.' " 




JERICHO BOB. 



By Anna Eichberg King. 




KRICHO BUB, 
when he was four 
years old,hopecl that 
one day he might 
l)c allowed to eat 
just as much turkey 
as he possibly could. 
He was eight now, 
but that hope had 
not been reaHzed. 
Mrs. Jericho Bob, 
his mother, kept 
hens for a living, 
and she expected 
that they would lay 
enough eggs in the 
course of time to 
help her son to an 
independent career 
as a bootblack. 

They lived in a 
tumbledown house 
in a waste of land near the steam cars, and be- 
sides her hens Mrs. Bob owned a goat. 

Our story has, however, nothing to do with 
the goat except to say he was there, and that he 
was on nibbling terms, not only with Jericho Bob. 
but with Bob's bosom friend, Julius Caesar Fish, 
and it was surprising how many old hat-brims 
and other tidbits of clothing he could swallow 
(luring a day. 

As Mrs. Bob truly said, it was no earthly use 
to get something new for Jericho, even if she 
could afford it ; for the goat browsed all over 
him, and had been known to carry away even 
a leg of his trousers. 

Jericho Bob was eight years old, and the 
friend of his bosom, Julius Ca:sar Fish, was 
nine. They were both of a lovely black ; a tal- 
low-dip could n't take the kink out of their hair, 
and the hardest whipping ilid not ilisturb the 
even cheerfulness of their spirits. They were so 
Vol.. XIX.— 5. 



much alike that if it had n't been for Jericho's 
bow-legs and his turn-up nose, you reallv could 
not have told them apart. 

A kindred taste for turkey also united them. 

In honor of Thanksgiving day Mrs. Bob al- 
ways sacrificed a hen which would, but for such 
blessed release, have died of old age. One 
drumstick was given to Jericho, whose interior 
remained an unsatisfied void. 

Jericho Bob had heard of turkey as a fowl 
larger, sweeter, and more tender than hen ; and 
about Thanksgiving time he would linger around 
the provision stores and gaze with open mouth 
at the noble array of turkeys hanging, head 
downward, over bushels of cranberries, as if 
even at that uncooked stage, they were destined 
for one another. And turkey was his dream. 

It was spring-time, and the hens were being 
a credit to themselves. The goat in the yard, 
tied to a stake, was var}-ing a meal of old shoe 
and tomato-can by a nibble of fresh green grass. 
Mrs. Bob was laid up with rheumatism. 

" Jericho Bob ! " she said to her son, shaking 
her red and yellow turban at him. " Jericho Bob. 
you go down an' fetch de eggs to-day. Ef I 
find yer don't bring me twenty-three, I '11 — well, 
never mind what 1 '11 do, but yer won't like it."' 

Xow, Jericho Bob meant to be honest, but 
the fact was he found twenty-four, and the 
twenty-fourth was so big, so remarkably big. 

Twenty-three eggs he brought to Mrs. Bob. 
but the twenty-fourth he sinfully left in charge 
of the discreet hen. 

On his return he met Julius C'cesar Fish, with 
his hands in his pockets and his head extin- 
guished by liis grandfather's fur cap. 

I ogether they went toward the hen-coop and 
Julius Cajsar Fish spoke, or rather lisped (he had 
lost some of his front teeth) : 

'• Jericho Bobth, tha'th a turkey'th egg." 

" Yer don't say so ? " 

'■ I think i'th a-goin' ter hatch." No sooner 



6s 



66 



JERICHO BOB. 



[Nov. 



said than they heard a pick and a peck in the 
shell. 

" Pick ! " a tiny beak broke through the shell. 



" Peck ! " more beak. 



Crack ! 



funny 



little head, a long, bare neck, and then " Pick ! 
Peck ! Crack ! " before them stood the funniest, 
fluffiest brown ball resting on two weak little 
legs. 

" Hooray ! " shouted the woolly heads. 

" Peep ! " said turkeykin. 

" It 's mine ! " Jericho shouted excitedly. 

" Pth Marm Pitkin'th turkey'th ; she laid it 
there." 

" It 's mine, and I 'm going to keep it, and 
next Thanksgiving I 'm going ter eat him." 



with what impatience and anticipation they saw 
spring, summer, and autumn pass, while they 
watched their Thanksgiving dinner stalk proudly 
up the bare yard, and even hop across the rail- 
road tracks. 

But, alas ! the possession of the turkey brought 
with it strife and discord. 

Quarrels arose between the friends as to the 
prospective disposal of his remains. We grieve 
to say that the question of who was to cook 
him led to blows. 

It was the day before Thanksgiving. There 
was a coldness between the friends which was 
not dispelled by the bringing of a pint of cran- 
berries to the common store by Jericho, and the 




JERICHO BOB AND JULIUS C.«SAK FISH PLANNING THEIR THANKSGIVING DINNER. 



" Think your ma '11 let you feed him up for 
thath ? " Julius Caesar asked, triumphantly. 

Jericho Bob's next Thanksgiving dinner 
seemed destined to be a dream. His face 
fell. 

" I '11 tell yer whath I '11 do," his friend said, 
benevolently ; " I '11 keep 'm for you, and 
Thanksgivin' we '11 go halvth." 

Jericho resigned himself to the inevitable, and 
the infant turkey was borne home by his friend. 

Fish, Jr., lived next door, and the only differ- 
ence in the premises was a freight-car perma- 
nendy switched off before the broken-down fence 
of the Fish yard; and in this car turkeykin took 
up his abode. 

I will not tell you how he grew and more 
than realized the hopes of his foster-fathers, nor 



contributing thereto of a couple of cold boiled 
sweet potatoes by Julius Caesar Fish. 

The friends sat on an ancient wash-tub in the 
back yard, and there was a momentary truce 
between them. Before them stood the freight- 
car, and along the track beyond an occasional 
train tore down the road, which so far excited 
their mutual sympathy that they rose and 
shouted as one man. 

At the open door of the freight-car stood the 
unsuspecting turkey, and looked meditatively 
out on the landscape and at the two figures on 
the wash-tub. 

One had bow-legs, a turn-up nose, and a huge 
straw hat. The other wore a fur cap and a 
gentleman's swallow-tail coat, with the tails 
caught up because they were too long. 



I89I.] 



JERICHO BOB. 



67 



The turkey hopped out of the car and gazed dinner spread his wings, rose in the air, and 
confidingly at his protectors. In point of size aHghted on the roof of the freight-car. 



he was altogether their superior. 

" I think," said Jericho Bob, " we 'd better 
ketch 'im ; to-morrow 's Thanksgiving. Yum ! " 

And he looked with great joy at the innocent, 
the unsuspecting fowl. 

" Butcher Tham 'th goin' ter kill 'im for 
uth," Julius Ccesar hastened to say, " an' I kin 
cook 'im." 

" No, you ain't. I 'm goin' to cook 'im," 
Jericho Bob cried, resentfully. " He 's mine." 

" He ain'th ; he 'th mine." 

" He was my egg," and Jericho Bob danced 
defiance at his friend. 



The turkey looked down over the edge of the 
car at his enemies, and they gazed up at him. 
Both parties surveyed the situation. 

" We 've got him," Julius Caesar cried at last, 
exultantly. " You git on the roof, and ef you 
don't kitch 'im up thar, I '11 kitch Mm down 
yere." 

With the help of the wash-tub, an old chair, 
Julius Cnesar's back, and much scrambling, Jeri- 
cho Bob was hoisted on top of the car. The 
turkey was stalking solemnly up and down the 
roof with tail and wings half spread. 

" I 've got yer now," Jericho Bob said, creep- 



The turkey looked on with some surprise, and ing softly after him. '• I 've got yer now, sure,' 



he became alarmed when he saw his foster- 
fathers clasped in an embrace more of anger 
than of love. 

" I '11 eat 'im all alone ! " Jericho Bob cried. 

" No, yer sha' n't ! " the other shouted. 

The turkey shrieked in terror, and fled in a 
circle about the yard. 

" Now, look yere," said Julius Caesar, who had 
conquered. " We 're goin' to be squar'. He 
wath your egg, but who brought 'im up ? Me ! 
Who 'th got a friend to kill 'im ? Me ! Who 'th 
got a fire to cook 'im ? Me ! Now you git up 
and we '11 kitch 'im. Ef you thay another word 
about your egg I '11 jeth eat 'im up all mythelf " 

Jericho Bob was conquered. \\'ith mutual 
understanding they approached the turkey. 

" Come yere ; come yere," Julius Caesar said, 
coaxingly. 

For a moment the bird gazed at both, uncer- 
tain what to do. 

"Come yere," Julius Ccesar repeated, and 
made a dive for him. The turkey spread his 
tail. Oh, did n't he run ! 

" Now I 've got yer I " the wicked Jericho 
Bub cried, and thought he had captured the 
fowl ; when with a shriek from Jericho Bob, as 
the turkey knocketl him over, the Thanksgiving 



he was just repeating, when with a deafening 
roar the express-train for New York came tear- 
ing down the road. 

For what possible reason it slowed up on 
approaching the freight-car nobody ever knew ; 
but the fact remains that it did, just as Jericho 
Bob laid his wicked black paw on the turkey's 
tail. 

The turkey shrieked, spread his wings, shook 
the small black boy's grasp from his tail, and 
with a mighty swoop alighted on the roof of the 
very last car as it passed ; and in a moment 
more Jericho Bob's Thanksgiving dinner had 
vanished, like a beautiful dream, down the road ! 

What became of that Thanksgi\ing dinner no 
one ever knew. If you happen to meet a travel- 
ing turkey without any luggage, but with a smile 
on his countenance, please send word to Jeri- 
cho Bob. 

Every evening he and Julius Caesar Fish 
stand by the broken-down fence and look up 
and down the road, as if they expected some 
one. 

Jericho Bob has a turn-up nose and bow-legs. 
Julius Ci\?sar still wears his dress-coat, and both 
are watching for a Thanksgiving dinner that 
ran away. 



PROFESSOR CHIPMUNK'S SURPRISING ADVENTURE. 



By Tudor Jenks. 



The oak-tree selected by the committee was And I am sure I can find no more fitting occa- 
excellently adapted to the purpose, being deep sion than the present to thank you all for bav- 
in the woods, shady, and yet not so thickly ing supplied my wife and children with acorns 
leaved as to obstruct the audience's view of the and walnuts during my absence. But for the 
sky, in case of hawks or other 
unruly members of society. 

Professor A. Chipmunk, 
though a little dingy in 
coloring and somewhat thin, 
as indeed was natural, con- 
sidering his experiences, ap- 
peared to be fully conscious 
of the importance of the oc- 
casion and ready to do his 
best. 

Precisely at noon he 
climbed to his place on one 
of the smaller branches, took 
a dainty sip of rain-water 
from an acorn-cup, waved 
his tail gracefully to the 
audience, and began: 

Quadrupeds and Bipeds: 

Your committee has told 
me that there is much curi- 
osity among you in regard 
to my experiences during 
my recent captivity in the 
hands of that grasping and 
selfish race which converts 
our happy woodlands into 
desolate farms, and prefers 
to the sprightly and interest- 
ing dwellers of the woods 
the overfed and stupid 
slaves of the farm -yard. 
For the benefit of my 
younger hearers, I will say professor chipmunk relating ms adventure. 

plainly that I refer to the ordinary Homo, com- sake of the few who may not know how it was 
monly known as Man. [Applause.] that I became the prisoner of the slow-moving 

Most of you know that it was my misfortune animals to which I have already referred, I will 
to fall into the clutches of these strange ani- explain that I entered, in the interests of science, 
mals, and my good fortune to return again to a sort of inclosure or artificial burrow known in 
my bereaved family, and to you, my neighbors, their tongue as a " //"^/." My purpose in en- 

68 




PROFESSOR CHIPMUNK S SURPRISING ADVENTURE. 



69 



tering the inclosure was to ascertain whether it 
was a safe place for a squirrel to reside, and I 
am quite convinced by my experience that it is 
not. The trap is commodious, dark, and well 
sheltered ; but it has the serious defect that the 
entrance does not always remain open. In- 
deed, in the case of the one I examined, no 
sooner had I entered it than something fell 
over the end, shutting out the light. As it fell 
I heard a peculiar sound from a bush near by. 
sounding like '■'■ IgothimJ'' 

Some of you may ask why I did not push 
aside the obstruction and escape. The same 
thought occurred to me; but, no matter how 
hard I pushed, it would not move. I then be- 
gan to gnaw my way out, when a remarkable 
thing occurred. You have many of you been 
upon a branch when it was violently swayed by 
the wind. In the same way did this trap be- 
have. It seemed to be raised from the ground 
and to be shaken violently, so \-iolently, in fact, 
that I had to cease my attempts at gnawing my 
way out. 

This continued for quite a time, and when it 
ceased the cover was opened. Glad to escape, 
I sprang through the opening. But to my sur- 
prise I found I was not free. I found myself 
in another inclosure made of thin straight 
twigs, without bark, and harder than any wood. 
I think I may say without presumption that my 
teeth are as good as those of any rodent who 
may be present, but try as I might, I could 
make no impression upon even the smallest of 
those cold gray twigs. 

[At this moment two blue-jays in one of the 
upper branches, who had already been chatter- 
ing in rather an audible tone, burst into a peal 
of mocking laughter. A king-bird flew at 
them, and gave them a good pecking, where- 
upon they flew away toward the swamp, and 
the audience settled down again and begged 
the profes.sor to go on.j 

.\s I picked up a few words of their lan- 
guage, I can inform you that this contrivance 
was called a " cage" and seemed to have been 
made for the purpose of retaining such wood- 
dwellers as might fall into these creatures' 
power. 

Several of the young animals gathered around 
it and examineil me closely, apparently to de- 



termine whether I was good to eat. Indeed 
the youngest of them — what they call a 
" Polly " — tried to seize a piece of my tail, 
but was prevented by the older and greedier 
ones. 

They seemed to think that I was not fat 
enough to be eaten, for they furnished me a va- 
riety of food. Among the things offered were 
bits of apple, a kind of sweet stone they called 
" sugar," which was like ver}' clean ice or hard 
snow, a dusty sort of dry stuff" known to them 
as '■'■crackers" and a few very' poor walnuts. 
Of course I did not feel like eating ; but they 
would not leave me alone. They poked me 
with bits of stick until, seeing a good opportu- 
nity, I bit the young animal called a Polly on 
the end of one of her soft claws. Then she 
wanted to hurt me ; but a larger one of the an- 
imals, known as a " Papa" interfered and tied 
a soft white leaf around her claw, probably so 
that she might not scratch me. 

By this time I heard a curious jingling sound, 
and I was soon left alone. 

This jingling sound was evidendy of much 
importance to these curious creatures. I heard 
it always early in the morning, at about midday, 
and after dark ; and whenever it was heard, the 
animals, big and little, would leave me for a 
rime long enough for eating perhaps a dozen 
hickor)- nuts. 

Ever}- part of the cage was comfortable and 
quiet, except one. That was a movable place 
into which I could crawl ; but as soon as I was 
in it, it would slide from under my feet. But no 
sooner did I slide from one part than I found 
another beneath my feet. It was \tx\ curious. 
They called it a " ivheel." 

Except the continued staring and poking, 
nothing was done to me the first day. But, at 
night, there was a great slamming and banging, 
the lights were suddenly taken away, just as the 
moonlight ends when a black cloud goes over 
the moon, and the whole place in which they 
lived became dark. 

Then how I suffered ! The air became ver)- 
heavy and close. I could not sleep. The hole 
in which these (jueer animals sleep was terribly 
warm and oppressive, and I longed to be in the 
woods again. 

When the light returned, the jingling sound 



70 



PROFESSOR CHIPMUNKS SURPRISING ADVENTURE. 



was repeated, the Papa and the Polly and the 
rest entered the big hollow where I was, and 
repeated a form of words until I was able to 
remember it. They said, " Good inorning. 
Papa" " Good morning. Folly" and then went 
out of the hollow. 

After another long time, a third one of them 
came in and looked very pleasantly at me. 
The Polly and the Papa came and stood look- 
ing in, too. Then the larger one said some 
words to the others, and repeated something 
like, " Let/mngo." 

The Polly said, " Whymama ! " 

The other said again, " Lethitngo." 

Then the cage was picked up and carried 
out of the hollow and into the field where they 
Hved. Next the Polly worked over one side 
of the cage until she had made an opening in 
it. 

Strange to say, none of them seemed to 
notice this opening, and of course I did not call 
their attention to the oversight. [Laughter.] 

I waited until the Polly had run away to 
where the other creatures stood, and then I 
made a quick jump through the opening, and 
away I went ! 

It did not take me long, I promise you, 
to make my way back to the woods, and 
since my return I have lived among you as 
usual. 



My observations while in captivity may be 
summed up as follows : 

I should advise you to avoid entering any of 
those peculiar square, hollow logs known as 
" traps," as it is much easier to enter them than 
to escape from them. I am sure few would be 
clever enough to escape as I did. 

If you should be so unfortunate as to find 
yourself in a " cage," — which, you remember, 
is made of hard gray twigs, — bite the soft 
claws of the creatures who poke you. 

Do not eat the strange foods known as 
'" crackers " or " candy" as they do not agree 
with any but men. 

Large men are known as the " Papa " or " Oh- 
Papa," and the smaller ones as " Polly " or 
" Bobby." The worst kind, I believe, is the 
" Bobby," and the best and kindest seems to 
be the " Whymama." 

These curious creatures all have a means of 
putting out the stars and moon at night, and 
prefer to sleep in very hot and bad air. They 
also run away somewhere whenever they hear 
a jingle, which happens three times a day. 

I thank you for your attention, and hope to 
be in my usual health soon. 

After a vote of thanks the meeting ad- 
journed, much impressed by the boldness and 
learning of Professor Chipmunk. 




THE PROFESSOR ON HIS TRAVELS IN THE 




THE FIRST TOOTH 



7« 





NE day while Johnny was out with his nurse, a 
hand-organ on wheels standing in the street played 
a very lively tune. "What is that tune?" asked 
\ Johnny. " I like it." So the nurse asked the organ- 
ic grinder. " That-a tune-a he call 'Johnny, get your 
gun,' " said the man. 

Johnny kept thinking "what a funny name for a 
tune ! " And the next day he went into the room 
where his papa was painting a picture. After a 
while papa left Johnny by himself, and — what do 
you suppose happened ? 



Everything was still, 
and Johnny was won- 
dering what he 'd do next, when in through 
the open window came the sound of a street- 
boy singing at the top of his voice. 

Johnny knew the song at once. It was 
"Johnny, get your gun, get your gun, get 
your gun," and our Johnny thought to himself, 
" I 'd like to get a gun. Where can I find 



one 



Looking about, Johnny saw, standing 
against the wall on one side of the room, 
seven guns — some very big and some not so 
big. They belonged to his papa, and he used 
them when he painted pictures of soldiers. 

Johnny trotted over and picked out (as a 
Little boy always does) the biggest he could 
find. It happened to be an old gun, one of 
the kind that were used long ago, with a 
rusty lock and barrel. 




72 



FOR LITTLE FOLK. 

None of the guns were loaded, so Johnny was 
in no danq-er; but he never thou<rht of danger. 
Down from its place he lifted the gun and put it 
on the floor, and pulled away at the ramrod, and at 
last got it out. Then he tried to put it back in its 
place, but it went into the barrel instead. Then he 
tried the lock; but try as he might, it would n't 
work. " How do thev shoot it?" he wondered. 



n 








" This way, I guess,"' said he ; but he could 
not lift the big gun up to his shoulder. 

Just then the curtains of the door opened, 
and there stood his papa ! 

"Why, m)' boy, what arc you doing.'*" he 
asked. "You might drop that big gun on 
your toes. Why did you get that gun? " 

" Why, papa. I heard somebody outside 
singing ' johnny, get your gun.' and I did n't 
have any ; so I thought I 'd get one of yours. 
This was the bio^crcst I coukl find." 



'£>& 



own if he would promise not to touch 

Johnny prom- 
ised. So a new gun 
was bought for X^ 2 
him, a toy-gun that \^ 
just fitted his littl 
hands; and now 
wh 
th 

" / 'w a Johnny, 
and I have a <run. 
I'll go and get it!" 



father put the gun back in its 
and told Johnny that he 
liave a gun (^\ his very 
the bie ones aeain. 



hen Johnny hears ) ^- . ^ 
le song, he says, U ^ \> A. —^ 




74 



JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT. 



[Nov. 




JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT. 



On some day during this fine, brisk, rustling 
November, my hearers, many of you will have the 
pleasure of attending a Thanksgiving feast either 
at home or elsewhere — -and if you do, be sure not 
to forget the thanks-giving part of it. The Deacon 
tells me that folk with good appetites and genial 
natures often do so nowadays, and he is sorry for it. 

A Thanksgiving feast may be one thing, or it 
may be another, or both — and the Deacon thinks 
it may as well be both. If you must forget one 
part of Thanksgiving Day, he says, forget the 
turkeys, the pumpkin pies, and all that sort of 
thing, but don't forget the best of all things — 
which is gratitude. 

"TRUE AS PERSIMMONS.". 

Talking of the Deacon reminds me that his 
favorite November expression is: " True as per- 
simmons.^'' 

"And I mean it strictly," he explains to the 
dear Little Schoolma'am. " Your persimmon, 
ripe or not, is as honest a thing as one can pick 
up in a week of Sundays. If it 's a ripe persim- 
mon it gives in and tells you so at once, and you 
believe it — and if it is not ripe — " 

Well, if there is any flattery, any dissembling, 
any nonsense about an unripe persimmon, the 
Deacon says he has been mistaken for some time 
past, that 's all ! 

A FARMER'S BULL KILLED BY A BEAR. 

Here is a true story which came to this pulpit 
from a friend of the Deacon's : 

It appears that a farmer in Pennsylvania lately was 
disturbed while at dinner by the bellowing of his cattle. 
He ran out, and found that a bear was inviting a calf to 
come over the fence and provide him with veal cutlets. 
The farmer resolved to attend tlie proposed banquet, and 
thought his rifle might be a useful companion. When 
he brought the rifle the farmer found that his three-year- 



old bull was arguing with the bear, and concluded to let 
the bull and bear settle the question. 

The bear thought the bull's horns were a pointed hint 
to leave, and, after a poking, tried to climb the fence. 
The bull wished to help him over, so the bear hit the 
bull on the nose as a token that he preferred to get over 
without help, and again went at the fence. Then the 
bull charged, and down came fence, bear, and bull, all in 
a heap. 

Neither animal paused to count ten, though both were 
out of temper, and the bull again charged on the bear ; 
but the bear hit him between the horns, and the bull 
fell. Then the farmer, seeing that the bull was dying, 
went after the bear, who retired to a swamp at the top of 
his speed, receiving a few slight wounds from the farmer's 
rifle. But the farmer's ammunition gave out, and he 
went home for his son. The two followed the bear's 
tracks, found him at home, and killed him. The bull 
was dead, the calf died before night, and the farmer and 
his son made up their minds that next time a bear came 
to fight a bull of theirs they would do their shooting 
earlier. The bear weighed three hundred pounds. 

Now let us take up 

A FOOLISH OLD SAYING. 

One thing always vexes my birds — and that is 
to hear folks say in a satisfied way, just as if 
they had settled the question conclusively, " The 
bird that can sing and will not sing must be made 
to sing.'' 

Now, did ever any one hear such nonsense as 
that ? I should like to see anybody, however grand, 
make one of fny birds sing if it did n't choose to 
sing ! 

NEWS FOR THE LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM. 

Here is a letter that contains, as you will see, 
news for the Little Schoolma'am : 

Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit : I am not a school- 
girl, for my sister and I are taught by a governess. 
But I have heard something that will astonish the 
dear Little Schoolma'am if she has not heard it 
already. / call it good news, too, though she may 
not do so. Will you please tell her that some of the 
real learned grown folks in mama's Afternoon Club 
believe that people ought to say you was and not you 
were when you are speaking to one person (which 
you know is the second person singular in gram- 
inar). They 'say you were is plural (and so it is) and 
if you are speaking to one person you must not speak 
plural to him, any more than you would say of 
a girl, " She must put on her hat for they [meaning 
the girl] are going out." 

Maybe this sounds mixed, but it is the best I can 
do at present. 

Your young friend, Laura Price. 

While we are considering questions of grammar, 
allow me to show you these lively verses from E. F. 
Green, a settled grammarian. 

THE GRUESOME GIRL. 

She was a real nice little girl. 

With hair that hung in one long cue. 
And she was meek as meek could be. 
But when, one day, she came to me, 
And said, " I done it " for « I did," 
Down from my nose my glasses slid, 
I opened very wide my eyes, — 



JACK-IN-THE-PUr.PIT. 



75 



I did this to express surprise, — 

And said, in voiqe that gruesome grew, 
"This will not do." 

She often folded in her lap 

Her hands, and like a saint she seemed ; 
She sat for hours and hours that way. 
But when, one time, I heard her say, 
" I seen it " when she should have said 
" I saw it," I just shook my head. 
Took my galoshes from the siielf. 
And in the rain walked by myself. 

Remarking, " She 's not what she seemed. 
I dreamed! I dreamed! "■ 

MUKAI,. 

O little girls with yellow hair 
And angel looks, beware ! 
Be very careful what you say. 
Nor drive your dearest friend away 
By fearful grammar; and when you 
Don't know exactly what to do 
Or say — say nothing. No real saint 
Was ever known to say " I ain't." 

A BOY ADOPTED BY A COW. 

A LETTER from Kansas has a surprising story, 
my friends. It tells me of a cow who, when she had 
lost her calf, showed so much sorrow that it awak- 
ened the sympathy of her owner's fourteen- year-old 
son, and he showed her some slight kindness. The 
grateful cow at once became fond of him, watched 
for him as she would for her calf, and since then 
she has shown her pleasure whenever he comes 
near her. Indeed no one but this boy can manage 
the poor animal, and wonderful stories are told of 
her devotion to him. The Kansas papers say that 
lately the boy had occasion to go to a neighboring 
town, and, as he remained away until after milking 
time, his sister, not daring to approach the cow in 
any other way, decided to personate her brother. 
So she put on a suit of his clothes and went into 
the barnyard. The girl succeeded in deceiving the 
cow until the boy was seen coming up the road, 
when instantly the indignant animal kicked the 
pail over and made a bound in the direction of the 
youth, showing uninistakable evidences of delight. 



Here is a pumpkin story sent you by your friend 
Emma M. Cass Vou see it was 

BROUGHT UP ON MILK. 

" I 'LI. tell you what 1 would like to have," said 
Johnny to his father, one clay early last spring, 
" and that is, a little piece of ground to plant some- 
thing in." 

Johnny's father gave his consent, and the next 
morning saw our would-be farmer working awav 
on his own farm. By dinner-time he had s|)aded it 
up, and planted some very choice pinnpkin-seeds 
in its sunniest coruer. Then for days he watched 
and waited until at last they began to send up their 
little green shoots. When, in due time, they 
waxed strong and vigorous, ,ind began to |nit out 
great yellow blossoms, and after a while some b.iby 
pumpkins took shape, our little farmer was proud 
indeed. There was one among them, however, 
that seemed determined to gel ahead of all the 



others ; for it grew and grew till it seemed as if it 
must burst its plump sides, or stop growing. 

One morning along came neighbor Sam to see 
this wonderful pumpkin, for its fame had spread 
through all the neighborhood. "A pretty sizable 
pumpkin," said he, "but it ought to grow a bit 
bigger. I should feed it." 

"Feed it! " exclaimed Johnny. " Do pumpkins 
ever eat .'' " 

'•To be sure they do — they are master hands 
to drink milk, as I 'II show you, if you 'II fetch me 
some in a large-mouthed bottle." 

Away ran Johnny, who soon returned with a glass 
jar of rich creainy milk. Farmer Sam then cut off 
the end of the stalk or large vine on which the 
pumpkin grew, and placed the remaining part in 
the milk. "There, now," he said; "you'll see 
that milk disappear in almost no time, and you 
must mind and keep the jar well filled." 

Johnny followed directions faithfully, and in a 
short time he was well rewarded. The milk was 
swallowed, and the pumpkin thrived until no finer, 
larger specimen had ever been seen in the country. 




KEEDING A PU.MPKIN. 



" It shall go to the State Fair." said Johnny's 
father, and to the fair it went, this Jumbo of a 
pumpkin. On the last day of the fair, as Johnny 
entered the hall where the garden produce was dis- 
played, about the first thing that met his eye was 
his pumpkin, to which was attached a card bear- 
ing these words: "Master John Hill. First Prize 
— ten dollars." 

The happiest boy in the State, as you may sup- 
pose, was Johnny. 

THE FOUR WORDS DISCOVERED. 

The dear Little Schoolma'am requests me to an- 
nounce that correct solutions of "Arum's" puzzle 
^ which I gave you in .August — have been sent in 
liv Lucv Cioodrich, Marguerite Spcckel. Katie 
Nianinef, Mabel K. C, Chas A. H.. Kdith L. C... 
Mabel H. S., "May '79." Ckrtrude A. L., M. B. 
Lenis, S. G. L., Miss Maddalena S. T.. " Infan- 
trv," Helen !'>.. Amv II. B , ('.race A . H., and 
I'.dilli A. r. 

.Arum asked for four words each made froin all 
of the seven letters: C I) L M A K 1. The words 
.ire MKDU AL, DECLAIM. PECHLM., CLAIMED. 

SPECULATIVE ASTRONOMY. 
Dear Jack: Will you please ask your crowd of boys 
and girls what they would answer to this question: 

Docs tiiis earth when looked at from another planet 
seem to be alxivc or below it ? .\nd, why ? 

Vour constant re.ider, Hki.EN M . 



THE LETTER-BOX. 



Virginia Beach, Virginia. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am staying at Virginia Beach, 
which is a seaside place about seventeen miles from Nor- 
folk. The beach is one of the finest along this coast, 
being over a hundred feet wide. 

Cape Henry is seven miles from here, and we often 
drive there to see the lighthouse. The view from the 
top of the lighthouse is perfectly beautiful. Looking 
seaward you see nothing but a long, unbroken line of 
glistening sand and water, the monotony of which is 
broken here and there by a ship or wreck against which 
the waves break, dashing the spray fifteen or twenty feet 
into the air. On the other side there is a great hill of 
gleaming sand a mile long, with a background of green 
forest. Just back of the hotel is a magnificent wood of 
pines, in the midst of which is a lovely lake where we 
go fishing. I think my two greatest pleasures are fish- 
ing and bathing. I have learned to swim and float, both 
since I have been here, and have won two or three 
swimming-races. 

I would like to describe to you some of the beautiful 
walks and drives I take, but fear you will tire of my 
letter. From your devoted reader, E. S. T. 



Cabourg, France. 

My Dear St. Nicholas : I have never seen in your 
" Letter-box " a letter from Cabourg, and so thought 
that perhaps one from here would be acceptable. 

Some people think that this beach is the mcst lovely 
in all France ; it is very long and sandy ; it is called 
La Plage des Bebes (The Babies' Beach), on account of 
the many children there. The surrounding country is 
beautiful. Ten minutes from here is Dives, where Wil- 
liam the Conqueror often was ; it is a very interesting 
old place. Henry IV. of France and Mme. de Sevigne 
stayed there for some time also. 

We are three sisters living in France ; we have been 
here two years and a half, and now, after such a long 
time, we wish to go back to our native land. 

We have taken you for several years and enjoy your 
stories very much. Our favorite ones are, " Lady Jane," 
"The Boy Settlers," "The Fortunes of Toby Trafford," 
" A Little Girl's Diary in the East," and " May Bart- 
lett's Stepmother." We are in boarding-school near 
Paris. I have a great many friends there. I remain your 
ever-devoted reader, Helen McC . 



The Catskills. 

Dear Saint Nick : My httle sister and I have been 
playing " Flower Ladies." As we had but very few roses, 
we used the prim China-asters which one so often sees in 
country gardens. We used too the quaint marigolds. 
The large, sober-colored asters were the grandmas, the 
soft, bright-colored ones were the sweet young ladies 
named " Alice " or " Gladys," while the little, white ones 
were the dear little children or the fat, chubby babies. 

Mama has promised me a little Skye terrier on my 
twelfth birthday. I shall be very glad when the day 
comes. 

I love to read the letters in the " Letter-box" almost 
as well as the other parts of your charming magazine. 
Vour loving reader, Geraldine G . 



LouisEN Schloss, Homburg-vor-der-Hohe. 

Dear St. Nicholas : My two brothers and I live in 
Germany, on a farm, a big piece of land which our father 
owns. Our lovely home is a castle, on the top of a small 
hill. At the bottom of the hill our own gardener lives, 
and takes care of the gate and animals. Our castle is 
surrounded by a high stone wall, inside which we keep 
a great many roses and other nice flowers. 

We have a young crow ; he is already pretty big, but 
he does not fly away. His name is " Jacob." He goes 
about our whole place by himself, everywhere, and when 
he is hungry he comes back to his little hut and eats his 
fill. Our house doggie is " Afife " ; he is very funny and 
very good-natured ; we hold him up by his tail some- 
times, but he never thinks of biting or barking. We 
have had him eight years now. 

You must not think we are German children, for we 
are Americans, and love you, .St. Nicholas. 

I can make cakes on a little range, which belongs to 
my kitchen, which is two yards long. 

Little Eager Reader. 



Columbia, S. C. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I am a little Southern girl, and 
was thirteen years old last March. My four sisters are 
eleven, nine, six, and two years old, respectively, and my 
dear httle baby brother is just two and a half months 
old, and weighs eighteen or nineteen pounds, I think. 
I am the eldest. 

We used to live in New Orleans before we came to 
Columbia, S. C, our home at present, where father is a 
professor in the South Carolina College. Columbia is a 
beautiful place. It has so many large trees and pretty 
gardens. 

Every Christmas we go to the place where my oldest 
sister and I were born, and where mother lived when 
she was a little girl, — namely, Charleston. I have many 
cousins there, and we make up games and play them, 
and you may be sure we have good times. 

My sweet, pretty little baby sister, and all the rest of 
us, love to swing on the swing we have in our large, 
beautiful yard. I don't think many people have the 
kind I mean. You see it is just like two separate 
swings, comparatively close together, with one long 
board resting with one end in each swing. The long 
board can be taken out, and then there are two little 
swings. When the long board is in, two children can 
get at each end and make it go, and others can sit in 
the middle. 

We used to have a funny old gander, who was very 
fond of our cow " Evolution," called Lou. He would go 
over to where Lou was and lie in the grass. Once Lou 
got lost, and while she was gone the gander did n't seem 
to know what to do, but when she came back he ran to 
meet her, and flapped his wings, and said: "Oh, Lou, 
I 'm so glad you 've come back ! Where have you 
been?" in gander language, and seemed just as glad to 
see her back as any of us. 

We have two cats, "Jet " and " Joeberry." Did you 
ever hear that name before? When my next-to-young- 
est sister was a little baby thing, she was out driving 
one evening with mother and my aunt. They were 
talking about berries, and the horse was named "Joe." 



THE LETTER-BOX. 



n 



My aunt turned to the baby and said, "What 's the 
horse named ? " She had the two things in her mind 
and answered, "Joeberry." Ever since, any pet she 
has is named "Joeberry." 

It is our custom to say a verse of Scripture every 
morning at the breakfast-table, right after the blessing, 
and once, about a year after the "Joeberry" drive, we 
were at breakfast, and w^hen it came her turn to say a 
verse (somebody usually taught her one, but that had 
not been done that morning) she said quite confidently, 
" Peek-a-boo ! I see you. Come from behind the chair, — 
peek-a-boo I " 

I w ill say good-by now, dear St. Xicholas, and re- 
main your little friend, SusY L . 



PoLWARTH Gardens, Edina. 

Mv Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little Irish boy on 
a visit to my grandfather and uncles. They call me a 
real " Tipperary bhoy." My home is in Clonmel, and I 
have left a great lot of pigeons. My papa is trying to 
train some of them for carriers. He sent some to Water- 
ford, about thirty miles away, and they came back very 
quickly. I am having a grand time in this lovely city. 
My mama and sister are here, too. We have seen more 
of Scotland. We like Stirling ; it is all about Bruce and 
Wallace. 

Three boys there read you as well as we. Your 
covers are sometimes all worn off with reading. My 
aunt here has sent you to us for eight years, — quite 
before I was born, — and I hope you will not be too busy 
to read this and hear how much we all weary for you 
every month. Dear St. Nicholas, your loving reader, 

DOIGLAS S . 



TowANUA, Pa. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am nine years old and have 
four brothers and one sister. We have a cat, a dog, a 
horse, a canary bird, and some chickens. We had a dog 
named "Joe"; we were very fond of him, but he got run 
over by a large lumber-wagon and had to be shot. Our 
new dog is a bird-dog. 

We have a boy choir in our church and I am the 
youngest boy in it. My brother George sings in it too. 
We call our eldest brother " Edison," because he is fond 
of electricity and has a laboratory full of batteries and 
chemicals, etc. 

We all like the St. Nicholas. Mama also reads it. 
Your friend, EnWARU M . 



Barton Heights, Va. 

Dear Si. Nicholas : 1 am a little boy eleven years 
old, and I am a great admirer of your magazine. 

I have been taking it for a numbei* of years, and my 
sister and I like very much to read it. The stories I 
like best this year are "The Boy Settlers," "Chan-Ok; 
A Romance of the Eastern Seas," and " The Fortune^ 
of rol)y Trafford." I would like very much to see 
Saleh Bin Osman .is that girl did, and think his history 
is the best in the .Vupust number. 

I live in a little village called Barton Heights, very 
near Richmond. I like this place very much, the sum- 
mer days are so much pleasanter than in the city. The 
summers are very hot ilown here in N'irginia, and we 
hardly have any >naw in the winter. 

I am your devoted reader, (]\sr()\ OiKY W . 



of the pass. We have very nice times riding donkeys. 
I have been throw n over their heads twice, and do not 
find it a very pleasant experience, although I have not 
been hurt either time. I have been in Green Mountain 
Falls five or six weeks w ith my sister and brother and 
.\unt Carolyn. I am the oldest, my sister ne.\t, and my 
brother is the youngest. There is just about two years 
difference in our ages. 

We enjoy you very much. We thought that " Lady 
Jane " was a beautiful story, and are very much inter- 
ested in "Toby Trafford." I have taken you two years. 

The other day we went up to Woodland Park, the next 
station above O'reen Mountain Falls. The station itself 
was not very beautiful, but the \iew was the most beau- 
tiful I ever saw. We were on a little foot-hill called 
Prospect Hill. And the mountains were in a circle 
around us. Toward the south we could see Pike's 
Peak, and toward the west we could see rows and rows 
of mountains, and the last two or three were so far away 
that you could only see their outline. 

Green Mountain Falls is so called because of its many 
trees, and their falls. 

There was something very queer that we saw in .\ugust 
St. Nicholas. It was headed, " What Is^ It ? " and I 
had thought of answering the question, but something 
happened that I did not have time. The ones that an- 
swered the question correctly were two others and " Car- 
oline B. S.," and I have wondered ever since if there is 
another Caroline B. S. who takes St. Nicholas. 

Your loving reader, Caroli.ne B. S . 



Green Moitntain Falls, Col. 
Dear St. Nicholas: Wc are having a perfectly 
glorious time camj^ing in the Rocky Mountains, in the 
iaeautiful Ute Pass. It is in the largest and widest part 



St. John's, Newfovndland. 

Dear St. Nichol.\s: Every time your paper comes 
my sister Nellie and I have a fight who shall have it 
first to read, and mama says if we don't stop fighting 
over you, she won't have you come to the house any 
more. We think we are the only ones that read you 
in Newfoundland, and thought you might like to hear 
about the Islands. We only came here six months ago, 
and saw so many strange things. 

Papa took us out in a boat w ith two fishermen to jig 
for codfish, .\fter we sailed out to the mouth of the 
harbor we let down our jiggers, which are pieces of lead 
shaped like small fishes and with two hooks at one end 
and a string fastened to the other, which we pulled 
\x\i and down quickly in the water, and very soon we 
caught forty small codtish, and the hooks would often 
catch the fish in the body, as they could not get out of 
the way quick enough. 

Our boat was near to a big iceberg which was higher 
than the masts of the vessels. They come from the 
north in the spring, float away past the harbor, and often 
get stopped in front of the harbor for several days, and 
until the wind blows them away. Those that turn over 
in the water are called " growlers.'' 

There are three kinds nf b.iit which the fishermen use 
to fish with : the c.iplin. the squid, and the herring. 
The caplin is like a small herring and is hooked on to 
a jigger; the squiil is something like a piece of rojje 
.ibout eight inches long, with one end fuzzed out. It is 
cut in pieces and a piece hooked on the jigger. Most 
of the codfish are caught on what are called the Grand 
Bank-, about two or three ilays' sail from here. These 
bank> are made by the icel>ergs bringing down with 
them rocks and earth, and when tliey meet the warm 
water from the south the ice melts, and the earth and 
rocks sink to the bottom, and so in time the water has 
got to be quite shallow, and it is arouml these banks 
the fish feed. The banks cannot be seen, but the fisher- 
men know where to find them. .\ gi^eat many of the 
fish are brought here and are split open, cleaned, and 
l.iid on fish-flakes to dry. 



78 



THE LETTER-BOX. 



The flakes are made of small posts about six feet 
high set up near the shore, and covered all over with 
branches of trees flatted down. They put me in mind 
of grape arbors. After the fish are dried they are tied 
up in bundles called fagots, and after that they are 
again dried and in about a month are ready to ship away. 
Only the best salt is used to cure the fish. When we 
saw them curing the fish the man gave me one, and 
when I held it by the tail it dragged on the ground. 

The vessels came in from the seal-fishing about the 
middle of April, and brought with them thousands and 
thousands of sealskins. We went over to see them 
unloaded, and the fat taken and made into oil. But the 
smell was so great that it made me sick, and I could 
not go in ; but mama and Nellie did. The skins are 
taken into a large warehouse and the fat is cut from 
them and melted into oil, which, after it has settled, is as 
clear as water. The skins are salted down and shipped 
away to make shoes and gloves. These are not the 
seals that the sealskin coats are made of. There are 
two kinds of seals, the harp and the hood. The hoods 
are very savage. 

Yours truly, Stephen P . 



Beaufort, S. C. 
Dear St. Nicholas : We have taken you ever since 
I can remember, so you may imagine how much I missed 
you when I went away for the first time to school, in 
Charleston, last winter. I am a little girl, twelve years 
old, and have been going to school ever since I was three. 
I have two sisters and a little brother. One of my sis- 
ters is older than I am, and the other is younger. Their 
names are Lizzie and Lou. My brother's name is Jacob 
Ford. We are descendants of the old Jacob Ford, who 
was aide-de-camp for General Washington. I have a 
cousin in Morristown, N. J., who takes an interest in my 
brother, and who sent him a picture of the old Ford 
Mansion there, in which they now keep relics. We have 
a large yard (nearly an acre, I think), and command a 
lovely view of the river, in which we bathe every day. 



Our yard is almost a farm-yard. We have two Jersey 
cows named " Bessie " and " Minnie," two horses named 
"Belle" and "Nellie," a cat that my brother named 
" Melum " when he could not say "pussy," two kittens 
not named yet, a dog named " Smut," and lots of 
poultry. " Smut " is a very pretty, curly-haired black 
dog, and is devoted to my brother. He knows a few- 
tricks. If you put a piece of cracker on his nose, and 
say, "Ready! Aim! Fire! " he will throw it up and 
catch it in his mouth. He is also a good hunting-dog. 

I read in an 1S87 number of your magazine a letter 
in which a Philadelphia girl described sugar-cane and 
Florida-moss as curiosities. It seemed so strange to us 
who have all our trees covered with moss, and who eat 
sugar-cane whenever we can get it in the fall. The cows 
are very fond of moss, and we delight in robing our- 
selves in it when we play. I also wish to say that the 
girl made a mistake when she said that the moss looked 
dead. It is very much alive, and blossoms. After a rain 
it is bright green. Mattresses are often made of it when 
it is dead and dry. I remain, your constant reader, 

Alice C. P . 



A Boy's Burglar Alarm. 

My battery was mixed ; 

My wires were fixed ; 
And oh ! just think how I feel ! 

My jewels were laid ; 

And there they stayed ; 
For there came no burglar to steal. 

M. W. 



R. 



We thank the young friends whose names follow for 
pleasant letters received from them : M. M. I., V. V. W., 
Ernie I., Lily, Artie, Phil, EUie, Pery and Winnie T., 
Nellie, Eva T. and Edna M. A., I. M. H., Vincent I., G., 
Carrie G. M., Edith S. I., Katharine McC, H. B. E. 




LITTLE BILLY LOOKS AT THE OLD HEN. 



THE OLD HEN LOOKS AT LITTLE BILLY. 



ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE OCTOBER NUMBER. 



Pulaski and Hogarth. Cross-words : 
3. Allegro. 4. Decapod. 5. Parasol. 



Double Diagonals. 

1. Peakish. 2. Gudgeon. 
6. Attacks. 7. Hemici. 

Numerical Enigm.\. 

I dare do all that may become a man ; 
Who dares do more is none. 

Macbeth, Act I., Sc. 7th. 

Zigzag. Poll Sweedlepipe. Cross-word.s : i. Ply. 7. Fob. 3. All. 
4. Elk. 5. Sue. 6. Owl. 7. Age. 8. Ken. 9. Daw. 10. HI. 11. Bee. 
12. Ape. 13. Ire. 14. Apt. 15. Foe. 

Cube. From i to 2, Baltimore; 3 to 4, emolliatc ; i to 3, butler- 
age ; 2 to 4, elucidate ; 5 to 6, dangerous ; 7 to 8, entertain ; S to 7, 
duplicate ; 6 to 8, seclusion ; i to 5, ballad ; 2 to 6, emboss ; 4 to 8, 
ensign; 3 to 7, elapse. 

Oriental Acrostic. Initials, Mahomet. Cross-words: i. Mecca. 

2. Allah. 3. Houri. 4. Osman. 5. Mufti. 6. Emecr. 7. Tunis. 



Anagram. Michael Angelo. 

Octagon, i. Let. 2. Fanes. 3. Lactate. 4. Enticer. 5. Teacher. 
6. Steer. 7. Err. 

Rhv.med Double Ackostic. Primals and finals, Pallas, .Athene. 
Cross-words : i. Pandora. 2. Ararat. 3. Leith. 4. Lethe. 5. Am- 
phion. 6. Selene. 

Illi strated Puzzle. Central letters, Holland; from i to 14, 
Timothy Titcomb. Cross-words: i. Mithras. 2. Bayonet. 3. Scol- 
lop. 4. Mollusk. 5. Theater. 6. Chinese. 7. Shadows. 

Pi. There comes a month in the wearj- year, 

A month of leisure and healthful rest, 
When the ripe leaves fall and the air is clear, — 
October, the brown, the crisp, the blesL 

Word-squares. I. 1. Goose. 2. Ousel. 3. Oside. 4. Sedum. 
5. Elemi. II. i. Stoat. 2. Tapir. 3. Opera. 4. Aired. 5. Trade. 

Rhomboid. .Across: i. More. 2. None. 3. EvaL 4. Yule. 



To our Puzzlers: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and 
should be addressed to St. Nicholas " Riddle-box," care of The Century Co., 33 E^t Seventeenth St., New York City. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the August Number were received, before August 15th, from "The McG.'s" — "Benedick 
and Beatrice" — Clara B. Orwig — "The Peterkins" — Paul Reese — Josephine Sherwood — A. H. R. and M. G. R. — "Infantry" — 
Aunt Kate, Mama, and Jamie — Chester B. S. — Blanche and Fred — E. M. G. — " Wareham " — Helen C. McClearj- — Jessie Chapman 

— Ida C. Thallon — " May and '79 " — " The Wise Five " — Nellie L. Howes — " Uncle Mung " — " Leather-stocking " — Ulmer and Marion 

— "King Anso, IV." 

Answers to Puzzles i.n the August Number were received, before August 15th, from Mama and Marion, i — Julia J., i — 
" Romeo and Juliet," i — "A Third," o — Grace and Maude, i — "Bubbles .Tnd Peggy," 4 — Jeannette D. Nightingale, 5 — Maude E. 
Palmer, 12 — A. J. and A., i — A. K. H., i — " Lady Maud," i — No name, Asbury Park, 1 — R. A. Stewan, 11 — Carrie Chester, i — 
Elsa Behr, Dictionary and Co., 12 — Hubert L. Bingay, 12 — R. W. R., L. A. K., and H. k. K., 8 — Me and Jack, i — Jeannette D. 
Nightingale. 3 — Aunt Martha, Aunt Julia, May Belle, and Willy, 12 — " Penrhyn," 4 — No name, Ellenville, 9 — Wilford W. Linsly, 1 — 
Effie K. Talboys, 9— Emma R. W., 4 — Arthur C. and Edna Haas, 7 — " Charies Beaufort," n— J. A. R., A. P. C, S W. and A. W. 
Ashhurst, 12 — "Nutshell," 11 — Grace Hazard, i — " .Auntie and I," 1 — Nannie J. Borden, 3 — Clara Stewart, 10 — "The Hayseeds," 
9 — " Wiontha," 12 — Madeline H., Jack, and A., i — Ida and Alice, 12 — Charles and Mar>- K., 4 — Elaine and Grace S., i — Estelle and 
Clarendon Ions and Mama, 2 — Carrie Thacher, 2 — Miss B. and H. S. R., 2 — .Margaret Mar>' Otis, 1 — R. M. Huntington, 12 — No 
name, Tonawanda, 7 — "Guinevere," 11 — C G. M., i — Puss, 1 — Sissie Hunter, 3 — " Chiddingston," 4 — Papa and Edith, 7 — 
Marguerite Speckel and Katie Mautner. 4. 




LHA.nONl). 

I. A LETTER from November. 2. A chart, j. To 
sing. 4. Warlike. 5. A name tjiven to the II th of No- 
vember. 6. Sharp. 7. Crippled. 8. .A. small boy. 9. 
.V letter from .\ugust. F. S. F. 

DIAGONAL PUZZLK. 

Cro.ss-words : I. To encour.age. 2. To disparage. 

3. To fascinate. 4. Actors. 5. To exalt in station. 
0. To provide. 7. A machine for lifting. 

When rigiitly guessed, and ])laced one below another, 
the diagonals (beginning at tiie upper left-hand corner) 
will sjiell a city named after a certain English duke, who 
afterwards became King James II. i.uciK M, 

WORn-SQUARK.S. 

I. I. .\ SOFT magnesian mineral. 2. The difference in 
value between metallic and paper money. 3. To draw. 

4. Tlic fruit of certain trees. 

II. I. Appeases. 2. Hot and fiery. 3. Amusicalterm 
signifying that all the singers or players are to perform 
together. 4. To im|ie(le or bar. 5. The base of a frond. 

"UNCLE MUNC. " AND " CHARLES BEAUFORT." 

ZHiZAGS. 

.•\li. of the words descril)ed contain the same number 
i>f letters. When rightly guessetl, and placed one l)elow 
another, the diagonals, beginning at the u|ii)er left-hand 
letter and ending at the lower right-hand letter, will si)eli 
a name given to Nicodemus Boffm. 

I. \ wcb-footetl water-fowl. 2. A warehouse. 3. .A 
vegetable. 4. \ pert, conceited fellow. 5. The fruit of 



the blackthorn. 6. C^ne related to another by any tie. 
7. Part of a clock. 8. The harness of beasts of burden. 
9. h. torch. 10. .\ fish highly prized for food. II. The 
cheven. 12. To look narrowly. 13. To throw with 
the hand. 14. To discharge. 15. .A thin piece of 
marble having plane surfaces. 16. A large stove or 
oven. c. I- 

.V TKIANGLE. 



2 10 

3 
4 
5 
t> 

7 
8 

9 
10 



18 



10 



'4 



l.^ 



12 



I I 



.•\cR0ss : I, in health and liappiness ; 2, 19, a conjunc- 
tion ; 3 to 18, a wry face; 4 to 17, the osprev ; 5 to 16, a 
tardigr.-tde, edentate mammal ; 6 to 15, a small quadruped 
found in Madagascar; 7 to 14, a precious stone; 8 to 13, 
the production of the tones of a chortl in rapid succession, 
and not simultaneously; 9 to 12, a book in which a sheet 
IS foKled into twelve leaves; 10 to li, supporting. 

From I to 10, good places in which to pass Thanks- 
giving; from II to 10, what one is sure to find at these 

pl.lCCS. FRANK SNEI.I.IN'".. 



79 



8o 



THE RIDDLE-BOX. 







Each of the twelve pictures in the above illustration 
may be described by a word of nine letters. When these 
are rightly guessed, and placed one below the other in 
the order given, the letters indicated by figures in the 
diagram from i to lo spell the name of an illustrious 
American; from il to i8, another very famous Ameri- 
can ; from 19 to 25, an eminent English writer and the 
maker of a dictionary; from 26 to 34, an Irish writer of 
poems, stories, and essays ; from 35 to 41, an English 
author ; from 42 to 46, the author of " Tale of a Tub " ; 
from 47 to 50, the author of the " Essay on Man " ; from 
51 to 54, an eminent English historian ; from 55 to 60, 
another English historian; from 61 to 66, a celebrated 
French romancer and dramatist ; from 67 to 77, the 
French author who wrote " The Spirit of Laws " ; from 
78 to 85, the famous Frenchman who wrote "Zaire." 

c. M'c. R. 
PI. 

Nagia eht vasele moce tingtrufle wond, 

Swolly, nileslyt, noe yb eno, 
Claters dan onscrim, nad glod adn wrobn, 

Wingill ot flal, rof trihe krow si node. 
Dan cone ainga socem het merday heaz, 

Dinprag eht shill wiht sit mylif bule, 
Nad vingile eht nus, woshe dretne sary 

Wiht delmovvel glith moce griminmesh hugtroh. 

DOUBLE ACKOSTIC. 

My primals spell a royal personage, and my finals 
a poet. 

Cross-words: i. Decision. 2. Worthless. 3. An 
inhabitantof any town. 4. The act of twisting. 5. Elo- 
quence. 6. A name borne by certain kings of Egypt. 
7. A character in the play of "Cymbeline." 8. To 
impeach. H. L. B. 

A LITERARY NUMERICAL, ENIGMA. 

I AM composed of one hundred and fifteen letters, and 
form a 83-66-1 10-71-16-55 from a poem addressed to a 
3-93-85-35-7-58-29-73-98. The author, Mr. 36-53- 
104-101-12-63, was born November 3, 1794, in 51-21- 
81-9-96-93-61-1 15-5-18, which is in the New England 
State whose name is abbreviated to 103-88-44-25. One 
of the earliest of this writer's poems made him famous. 
It was called 33-1-78-39-74-14-92-108-45-1 12-105, 



29 43 54 28 l<5 5 6 7 50 

& 62 13 63 47 9 ?4 10 59 

5^:57 50 31 17 19 20 21 IS 2S 

34 59 27 45 49 <34 32 22 35 

11 46 77 14 46 64 44 25 4? 

53 52 . 58 . 56 . 41 72 

, .61 . . 75 74 75 60 

7& 71 26 7fe 70 62 57 . 

. 79 56 15 65 «>9 , . 

.81 . 65 . 51 6& 

fc7 . . . 6§ 66 . 



80 



and it is still 
held in very 

49-56-31-II4 

esteem. An- 
other well- 
known poem 
of his is called 
84-32-24 23- 
42-74-48-27 
70-6 79-34- 
100 58-69-37- 
95-107-86-43. 

He also translated the 64-99-22-101-40 and the 11-89-47 
-109-25-68-50. Almost contemporary with this writer 
were 6-60-106-10-20-28-94-52-65-2 77-55-91-97-19- 
51-46, who wrote " Marco Bozzaris " ; -41-17-57-1 13-6- 
87-98-59-8-95, who wrote " Sandalphon " ; and 73-62- 
80-26-76-80-13-111, who wrote " 44-93-1 5-3-36-1 5- 
38-12-102." My 54-4-75-81-19 and III-30-13 are two 
plants mentioned by Shakespeare. My 67-S2-72-17 is 
a famous French writer, born in 1802. 

W. E. WALKER. 

WORD-BUILDING. 

I. A VOWEL. 2. A tone of the diatonic scale. 3. Part 
of a skillet. 4. A lineage. 5. A small frame of wood 
on which a fisherman keeps his line. 6. A series of 
arches. 7. An enigma. 8. A chair. 9. The principal 
church in a diocese. "XELIS." 

RHYMED PROIAL ACROSTIC. 

1. A NOTED battle, England's boast ; 

2. An island on the English coast ; 

3. A Spartan general, brave and bold ; 

4. All victors wore in days of old ; 

5. A people, God's peculiar care ; 

6. A province lost to France, the fair ; 

7. A poet who can hours beguile ; 

8. The famous " serpent of the Nile ; " 

9. A western State we next must name ; 

10. A general of lasting fame ; 

11. One of seven hills of great renown ; 

12. A name beloved in Concord town; 

13. A Flemish painter known to fame, — 
You '11 give, without delay, his name. 
These initials place with care; 

You '11 see a poet's name is there. M. E. 



THE DE VINNE PRESS, NEW YORK. 




MARGERY AND THE TWINS AT THE "CHRISTMAS INN." 

(see page 87.) 



ST. NICHOLAS. 



Vol. XIX. 



DECEMBER, 1891. 



No. 2. 



THE CHRISTMAS IXX, 



By Ell.\ F. Mosby. 



Long ago, in one of England's old shires It was Christmas Eve in 1465, and snow had 

there was a famous hostelrj- known as the " Sara- fallen thick and fast, covering from sight the 

cen's Head," and on the creaking sign-board was charred and blackened gable-ends of many a 

painted a fearful paynim with gleaming white ruined or desolate house. There had been hard 

teeth and frowning eyebrows. But one day it fighting in old England, " Merry '' no longer 

became the " Christmas Inn," with the genial when class fought against class, section against 

device of a sprig of holly, promising good cheer section, people against nobles, east against west, 

and a jolly welcome. To tell the reason of the and when friend and kinsman were at deadly 



inn's change of name will be to give a page out 
of the obscure chronicles of the common lives 
of men, women, and children more than three 
centuries ago. But the quaint, sweet incident 



feud ; when the white rose of York and the red 
rose of Lancaster were in conflict for the Eng- 
lish throne. But, for the sacred Christmas sea- 
son, a truce had been agreed upon, and for 



is well worth calling to mind at the blessed thirty days there wouUl be no blow struck. 
Christmas sea.son. The Saracen's Head lookeil fierce and grim 

It is found briefly set down between items of in the wiKl wind and drifting snow ; but mine 

household expenses, and statements of journeys host of the inn, Thomas Curdy, came to the 

to London and back, and records of deaths in door and gazed up and down the highroad 

battle, and costs of trials for treason, in the with a broad, red, jolly face of hospitality and 

household books of the worshipful families of welcome. It was so wild a storm that he was 

the Hightowers and the Bamstajjles in the years about to shut and bar the great door earlier than 

from 1461 to 1483. It comes like a little flute's was usual; but he would fain catch some sign 

silvery tune, between the blare of trumpets and of approaching travelers, man and beast, before 

the clash and clang of swords in tho.se rough doing so. 

days, and is so briefly told that I shall have to " No traveler abroad to-night ! " quoth he 

piece it out for you in my own way. with a sigh of regret, as he went back within 

Copyright, 1891, by The Ckntirv Co. All rights reser\-ed. 

83 



84 



THE CHRISTMAS INN. 



[Dec. 



the red, glowing circle of warmth thrown out 
by the huge Yule logs of the blazing fire, 
and rubbed his stout hands before its leaping 
flames. 

" Marry, then, this blessed eve there will be 
no drinking nor brawling here, nor quarreling in 
men's cups till they come to blows, truce or no 
truce ! " answered Dame Curdy, contentedly, 
her rosy, motherly face and fat figure seeming 
to shed in its way as much comfort around her 
as did the fire. 

A jolly pair they were, and to see how the 
flames made them ruddier and jollier and 
cheerier every moment, was a sight for Christ- 
mas eve. The Hightowers and Barnstaples 
chronicles have little to say of this honest pair, 
but nevertheless they are quite as worthy our 
attention as any Lancastrian Hightowers or 
Yorkist Barnstaples of them all. 

" Travel, good dame, travel up and down 
the highroad brings good luck to the Saracen's 
Head, and it 's a bad night that stops it ! " 

"Ay, I wot — travel in peace. But no bands 
of fighting-men, to give the honest house a hard 
name, — and no reckonings paid either. But 
in this storm, I warrant none will stir abroad 
that can bide at home — not even your thirsty 
cronies from the village, Hobbs and Giles." 

" An' if a storm stops them," — but here a 
loud, shrill blast from a trumpet sounded keen 
and clear across the wild wind. 

Mine host started up, alert and ready, and 
Dame Curdy wrung her hands in dismay. 

" More fighting-men, alack ! I hear the ring- 
ing of their armor now as they ride through 
the gate. May the saints keep watch and ward 
over us poor sinners, for that is none other than 
Sir John Keightley's call ! They are all the 
Earl's men." 

The good landlady loved peace, and hated 
war, and her kindly heart dreaded the turbu- 
lent scenes that old kitchen had often wit- 
nessed; but her lamentations were to no pur- 
pose, as she well knew. Of all people they 
dared not offend the redoubtable Earl of High- 
towers, or any of his stout men-at-arms. 

In a few seconds, the inn was full of bustle 
and confusion. Hostlers ran, maids hurried 
here and there ; and, while the dame gave shrill 
orders in the kitchen, Thomas Curdy shouted a 



welcome through the fierce blasts of wind that 
drove the whirling snow through the wide-open 
doors. 

Across the threshold — with wind and snow- 
flakes — entered the late comers: Sir John 
Keightley, a weather-beaten, rugged, and 
scarred old veteran of many a hard-fought 
fight, and at least nine or ten stout men with 
him, roughly dressed, and armed with the long- 
bow, as were most of the common soldiers at 
that time. But as they came out of the night 
and the storm into the circle of light around 
the great hearth, Thomas Curdy saw that this 
was no ordinary band of fighting-men. There 
were women — three of them, and one who 
carried herself so haughtily that mine host, who 
was used to the ways of great people, shrewdly 
suspected that she was no more than some great 
lady's attendant ; for he had always noticed 
that the great lady herself was likely to be more 
simple and quiet in her ways than her maid. 

And Sir John Keightley carried in his arms 
a bundle which he would let no one touch, but 
strode ahead in front of the great fire, and 
kneehng down, began tenderly to unfasten 
wrap after wrap. What a hush of amazement 
at first, and then what exclamations of wonder 
and delight from Dame Curdy and her women 
when the last wrapping was thrown off, and out 
stepped the daintiest little girl ever seen ! She 
was but two years and six months old ; and she 
laughed out merrily like the ripple of water, or 
the singing of the early winds in spring through 
the young leaves. And looking up at the big 
knight, with tiny hands she began to brush the 
snow-flakes from the grizzled hair and beard of 
the old soldier. 

" Who is this dear heart ? " cried Dame 
Curdy ; and a clear httle flute-like voice an- 
swered in the softest of tones: 

" I 'm Lady Margery " (or " Marg'y," as she 
pronounced it) — " Rosamond Vere." 

Her hair was of reddish gold of the finest 
silken texture. It was cut square across her 
brow in front, and hung over her lace frill be- 
hind. Her eyes were of a velvety black-blue 
color, and had a look of wistful tenderness that 
was contradicted by the laughing, mischievous 
mouth and the dimples that lurked in cheek 
and chin. That look must have come from 



1891.] 



THE CHRISTMAS INN. 



85 



the young mother who died not long after the Dame Curdy was right. This baby in her 

husband, only son of the Earl of Hightowers, little rose-colored camlet gown, with the gold 

was cut down in a skirmish with the Yorkists of her precious head for a crown, ordered her 

at Stapleton-on-the-Moor. The baby girl had retainers about — Sir John most of all — more 

her mother's eyes and her father's chin, but the royally than the Earl dared to do. But it was. 



-- (J ♦y*: 








"ACROSS THE TIIKESHOLO ENTERED THE LATE COMERS. 



likeness that delighted the portly landlady and 
made her smile cheerily, and rub her fat hands, 
was to little Margery's stately okl grandmother, 
the countess, witli her tall head-dress. For just 
at that time the fashionable gentlemen wore 
puffed and slashed doublets, and shoes ridicu- 
lously broad like hoofs ; and fashionable ladies, 
like the countess, were adorned with head- 
dresses ornamented by i)rojecting horns, and 
looked very grand, no doubt. 

" Pretty lamb, how she favors the C'ountess 
herself with that proud turn of her sweet head!" 



after all, a right heavenly rule of love, albeit a 
wilful one. 

She would have none of her nurse when, after 
a dainty grace, she hail eaten her supper of 
cream and fine white wheat bread ; but she ran 
away, laughing so that she tripped and almost 
fell, past the men-at-arms to stou^ old Sir 
John Keightley, and climbed on his knee in 
triumph — for she was sure of having her own 
way there. 

Sir John had been sent by the Earl to bring 
home his little granddaughter, too young to 



86 



THE CHRISTMAS INN. 



[Dec. 



grieve over her double loss, and had fallen in 
love with the little maid from the first sound of 
her childish voice. 

She prattled away merrily now, her silvery, 
piping tones sounding curiously sweet among 
the gruff voices of the rough soldiers. The men 
were watching with keen appetites the stirring 
of the savory dishes, as the landlady hung over 
the fire, every now and then glancing at the 
pretty child on the knight's knee. 

" Hark ! hark ! " cried Margery, suddenly, 
making with her baby finger an imperative 
gesture for silence. " Marg'y hears the big 
horn coming ! " and laughing out with delight, 
she doubled up her rosy fists and began to 
blow in pretty mimicry, her eyes shining like 
stars in her excitement. Then quickly chang- 
ing, she clapped her tiny palms together, cry- 
ing, '' KIing-kla?ig, kling-klang /" 

They all heard now what the finer ear of 
the child had sooner detected — the trumpet- 
call coming nearer and nearer, and the clang 
of arms. 

" Who think you that these may be, land- 
lord ? " asked Sir John, anxiously glancing at 
the golden head against his breast. 

" I fear me it is Sir Joseph Barnstaples's men," 
answered mine host deprecatingly, for the 
Barnstaples were Yorkists, and long at enmity 
with the Hightowers faction; and again the 
good dame sighed and wrung her hands in 
dismay. 

Fearing some possible attack, in spite of the 
solemn proclamation of the truce. Sir John 
made his men resume their weapons while the 
big door was being unbarred. 

Then what a sight ! No such wonderful 
night had the old Saracen's Head ever known 
before. Here, again, with the soldiers were 
nurses — two nurses in russet kersey gowns, car- 
rying each a small bundle; and out of these 
bundles, when unwrapped, appeared two babies, 
twin girls of eighteen months old ! Sir Joseph 
Barnstaples's second son had married in one 
of the southern shires a rich heiress, who had 
died of a fever, and now, the granddame being 
dead also, the father was sending them, like the 
wee lady with Sir John, under military convoy 
back to his old home at Barnstaples Manor. 

The women clapped their hands, and laughed 



with " Ohs ! " and " Ahs ! " and " Dear hearts ! " 
— even the soldiers laughed — but nobody was 
so pleased as the little " Lady Marg'y," as she 
gazed, with wide-open eyes and crimson lips 
just parted by a smile and showing a few white 
pearls of teeth, at the demure twin babies. 

Barbara and Janet Barnstaples, as the firehght 
danced over their little, smooth, round heads, 
darker than Margery's, could not be coaxed 
into a smile. Their four dark grave eyes won- 
dered solemnly at all the noise and all the 
strange faces, and the two little mouths were 
drawn up for a cry, when all at once they 
caught sight of Margery, bending forward, and 
two faint little dimples showed for a moment 
one on each right cheek. At least, Barbara 
smiled first, and then Janet followed suit. 

The snow came down thick and fast that 
night, but old Sir John, wont to dream of bu- 
gles sounding alarm, and of ambuscade and 
skirmish, dreamed of a long-forgotten meadow 
above the weir, where the blue speedwell grew 
and bloomed until the ground was all of a deh- 
cious blue like the angelic robes in the old 
chapel windows ; and waking next morning, 
cast about in his mind as to whether this might 
not betoken death ; for had he not heard all his 

life that 

Flowers out of season 
meant 

Trouble out of reason ? 

It would seem very funny, nowadays, for an 
experienced and brave old gentleman to worry 
about dreams and signs, but people were not very 
wise about such things in the fifteenth century. 

The same night, the old nurse was aAvakened 
by a hght foot-fall in the room, and, peeping 
out from the bed-clothes, saw a flitting white 
figure cross the dusky space that was but dimly 
hghted by the gleams from the dying embers. 

She put her hand out for her nursling. The 
little nest in the bed was warm, but empty. 
Up she started in alarm, and saw — a sight for 
Fairyland ! For little Margery, hearing one of 
the twin babies cry in her sleep, and her nurse 
not waking, had stolen out of bed and was busy 
tucking her in and cooing to her hke a little 
wood-dove. The old nurse called her softly, 
and the litde bare feet pattered across the floor 



1891.] 



THE CHRISTMAS INN. 



87 



to the bed, to be caught up and cuddled to 
sleep again. 

The next morning Margery would not eat 
until the twins had been put one on each side 
of her at the table ; and then she would feed 
them, giving now Barbara a bit of the wheaten 
loaf, and now Janet a spoonful of cream. And 
if she ever gave to Janet first, Janet would shake 
her small head, as brown and glossy as a nut. 
and i)oint with her wee finger to Barbara. The 
whole party were in high glee, until Margery 
noticed with displeasure that too many were 
looking on. For the very hostlers, and the 
scullions had stolen to the doors to peep at 
the strange sight of three babies among all those 
soldiers who now seemed to be quite friendly 
together, and wonderfully quiet in their innocent 
presence. 



Margery turned her head quickly to Sir John, 
and asked, with an air that dehghted the land- 
lady, " Are dose folks all so hungry ? " 

There was such a shout of applause that the 
intruders fled abashed, and the little lady gravely 
returned to her breakfast. 

\'ery soon the two convoys went on their 
separate roads, and whether the little lady of 
Hightowers and the twin heiresses of Barn- 
staples ever met again, and were friends or foes, 
our chronicle does not say. But the coming of 
the three babies to the Saracen's Head on 
Christmas eve was not soon forgotten, and in 
memory of the day of good-will that grim old 
Moslem was hauled down from his creaking 
sign-post, and in his place swung gaily to and fro 
a freshly painted holly branch with the words 
Christmas Inn beneath it. 





By Charles E. Carryl. 



Chapter I. 

DOROTHY AND THE ADMIRAL. 

The Blue Admiral Inn stood on the edge 
of the shore, with its red brick walls, and its 
gabled roof, and the old willow-trees that over- 
hung it, all reflected in the quiet water as if the 
harbor had been a great mirror lying upon its 
back in the sun. This made it a most attrac- 
tive place to look at. Then there were crisp 
little dimity curtains hanging in the windows 
of the coffee-room and giving great promise 
of tidiness and comfort within, and this made 
it a most delightful place to think about. And 
then there was a certain suggestion of savory 
cooking in the swirl of the smoke that came 
out of the chimneys, and this made it a most 
difficult place to stay away from. In fact, if 
any ships had chanced to come into the little 



harbor, I believe everybody on board of them, 
from the captains down to the cabin-boys, 
would have scrambled into the boats the mo- 
ment the anchors were down and pulled away 
for the Blue Admiral Inn. 

But, so far as ships were concerned, the 
harbor was as dead as a door-nail, and poor 
old Uncle Porticle, who kept the inn, had long 
ago given up all idea of expecting them, and 
had fallen into a melancholy habit of standing 
in the little porch that opened on the village 
street, gazing first to the right and then to the 
left, and lastly at the opposite side of the way, 
as if he had a faint hope that certain sea- 
faring men were about to steal a march upon 
him from the land-side of the town. And Dor- 
othy, who was a lonely little child, with no 
one in the world to care for but Uncle Por- 
ticle, had also fallen into a habit of sitting on 



88 



THE admiral's CARAVAN. 



89 



the step of the porch by way of keeping him 
company; and here they passed many quiet 
hours together, with the big robin hopping 
about in his cage, and with the Admiral him- 
self, on his ped- 



V 



'te ADMIRAL 




estal beside the 
porch, keeping 
watch and ward 
over the fortunes 
of the inn. 

Now the Ad- 
miral was only a 
yard high, and 
was made of 
wood into the 
bargain; but he 
was a fine figure 
of a man for all 
that, dressed in 
a snug blue coat 



(as befitted his 
name) and cana- 
ry-colored knee- 
breeches, and 
wearing a fore- 
and-aft hat rak- 
ishly perched on 
the back of his 
head. On the 
other hand, he 
had sundry stray 
cracks in the 
calves of his legs 
and was badly 
battered about 
THE AD.MIRAU thc nose ; but, 

after all, this only gave him a certain weather- 
beaten appearance as if he had been around the 
world any number of times ; and for as long as 
Dorothy could remember he hail been standing on 
his pedestal beside the porch, enjoying the sun- 
shine and defying the rain, as a gallant officer 
should, and earnestly gazing at the opposite side 
of the street through a spy-glass. 

Now, what the Admiral was staring at was a 
mystery. He might, for instance, have been 
looking at the wooden Highlander that stood 
at thc door of Mr. I'endle's instrument-sho]), for 
nothing more magnificent than this particular 
Highlander could possibly be imagined. His 



clothes were of every color of the rainbow, and 
he had silver buckles on his shoes, and he was 
varnished to such an extent that you could hardly 
look at him without winking; and, what was 
more, he had been standing for years at the 
door of the shop, proudly holding up a prepos- 
terous wooden watch that gave half-past three 
as the correct time at all hours of the day and 
night. In fact, it would have been no great 
wonder if the Admiral had stared at him to the 
end of his days. 

Then there was Sir Walter Rosettes, a long- 
bodied little man in a cavalier's cloak, with a 
ruff about his neck and enormous rosettes on 
his shoes, who stood on a pedestal at old Mrs. 
Peevy's garden gate, oftering an imitation to- 
bacco-plant, free of charge, as it were, to any 
one who would take the trouble of carr>-ing it 
home. This bold device was intended to call 
attention to the fact that Mrs. Peevy kept a 
tobacco-shop in the front parlor of her little 
cottage behind the hollyhock bushes, the an- 
nouncement being backed 
up by the spectacle of three 
pipes arranged in a tripod 
in the window, and by the 
words " Smokers' PLmpor- 
ium" displayed in gold 
letters on the glass. Dor- 
othy knew perfectly well 
who this little man was, 
as somebody had taken the 
trouble of writing his name 
with a lead-pencil on his 
pedestal just below the 
toes of his shoes. 

And lastly there was old 
Mrs. Peevy herself, who 
might be seen at any hour 
of the day, sitting at the 
door of her cottage, fast 
asleep in the shade of her 
big cotton umbrella with 
tlie Chinese mandarin for 
a handle. She was n't 
much to look at, perhaps, but there was no way 
of getting at the Admiral's taste in such mat- 
ters, so he stared through his spy-glass year 
in and year out, and noboily was any the wiser. 
Now from sitting so much in the porch, 




THK HIGHUANDER. 



90 



THE ADMIRALS CARAVAN. 



[Dec. 



Dorothy had come to know the Admiral and the snow ; and in place of that there came a soft, 
the Highlander and Sir Walter Rosettes as well warm rain which was all very well in its way, 
as she could possibly know people who did n't except that, as Dorothy said, " It did n't belong 

on Christmas eve." And just at nightfall she 
went out into the porch to smell the rain, 
and to see how Christmas matters generally 
were getting on in the wet ; and she was 
watching the people hurrying by, and trying to 
fancy what was in the mysterious-looking par- 
cels they were carrying under their umbrellas, 
when she suddenly noticed that the toes of the 
Admiral's shoes were turned sideways on his 
pedestal, and looking up at him she saw that he 
had tucked his spy-glass under his arm and was 
gazing down backward at his legs with an air of 
great concern. This was so startling that Doro- 
thy almost jumped out of her shoes, and she 
was just turning to run back into the house when 
the Admiral caught sight of her and called out 
excitedly, " Cracks in my legs ! " — and then 




M m 



SIR WALTKR ROSETTES. 



know her and who could n't have spoken to 
her if they Aad known her ; but nothing came 
of the acquaintance until a certain Christmas 
eve. Of course, nobody knew better than 
Dorothy what Christmas eve should be like. 
The snow should be falling softly, and just 
enough should come down to cover up the 
pavements and make the streets look beautifully 
white and clean, and to edge the trees and the 
lamp-posts and the railings as if they were 
trimmed with soft lace; and just enough to 
tempt children to come out, and not so much as 
to keep grown people at home — in fact, just 
enough for Christmas eve, and not a bit more. 
Then the streets should be full of people hurry- 
ing along and all carrying plenty of parcels; 
and the windows should be very gay with de- 
lightful wreaths of greens and bunches of holly 
with plenty of scarlet berries on them, and the 
greengrocers should have little forests of as- 
sorted hemlock-trees on the sidewalks in front 
of their shops, and everything should be cheer- 
ful and bustling. And, if you liked, there 
might be just a faint smell of cooking in the 
air, but this was not important by any means. 
Well, all these good old-fashioned things came 
to pass on this particular Christmas eve except 




' THE ADMIRAL MADE A DESPERATE ATTEMPT TO GET A VIEW 
OF HIS LEGS THROUGH HIS SPY-GLASS." 



Stared hard at her as if demanding some sort of 
an explanation. 

Dorothy was dreadfully frightened, but she 
was a very pohte little girl, and would have 
answered the town pump if it had spoken to 
her ; so she swallowed down a great lump that 
had come up into her throat, and said, as re- 
spectfully as she could, " I 'm very sorry, sir. 
I suppose it must be because they are so very 

old." 

'• Old ! " exclaimed the Admiral, making a 
desperate attempt to get a view of his legs 



THE admiral's CARAVAN. 



91 



stared hard at her again, as if inquiring what 
she thought of that. 

" Goodness ! " said Dorothy, drawing a long 
breath, " what a word 1 " 

" Well, it is rather a word," said the Admiral 
with a very satisfied air. " You see, it means 
about everything that can happen to a person's 

legs " but just here his remarks came 

abruptly to an end, for as he was strutting about 
on his pedestal he suddenly slipped off the 
edge of it and came to the ground flat on his 
back Dorothy gave a litde scream of dismay ; 
hXrHstT^U fwh^*;;; oroide; ... .he ^i^^ n. appe. .0 be .„ 
Iten/ am"f and, upon thinking it over, this the least disturbed by ,h,s accden,, sat up and 



seemed so very true that Dorothy felt quite 
ashamed of her remark and stood looking at 
him in a rather foolish way. 

- Try again," said the Admiral, with a patron- 
izing air. 

" No," said Dorothy, gravely shaking her 
head. " I 'm sure I don't know any other rea- 
son ; only it seems rather strange, you know, 
that you 've never even seen them before." 

" If you mean my legs," said the Admiral, " of 
course I 've seen them before— lots of times. 
But I 've never seen 'em behind. That is," 
he added by way of explanation, " I 've never 
seen 'em behind before." 

- But 1 mean the cracks," said Dorothy, with 
a faint smile. You see she was beginning to feel 
a little acquainted with the Admiral, and the 
conversation did n't seem to be quite so solemn 

as it had been. 

" Then you should say ' seen 'em before be- 
hind;" said the Admiral. "That 's where 
they 've always been, you know." 

Dorothy did n't know exactly what reply to 
make to this remark ; but she thought she ought 
to say something by way of helping along the 
conversation, so she began, "I suppose it 's 

kind of " and here she stopped to think of 

the word she wanted. 

" Kind of what ? " said the Admiral severely. 

" Kind of— cripplesome, isn't it?" said Dor- 
othy rather ronfuse<lly. 

" Cripplesome ? " exclaimed the Admiral. 
" Why, that 's no word for it. It 's positively 
(iecrepitoodle " here he paused for a mo- 
ment and got extremely red in the face, an.l 
then finished up with " l.xxllelarious." and 



gazed about with a complacent smile. Then, 
getting on his feet, he took a pipe out of his 
pocket, and lit it with infinite relish, and having 
turned up his coat-collar by way of keeping the 
rest of his clothes dry, he started off down the 
street without another word. The people go- 
ing by had all disappeared in the most unac- 




"THE ADMIRAL SAT IP AND GAZRD ABOl T WITH A 
COMPLACENT SMILE. 

countable manner, and Dorothy could see him 
quite plainly as he walked along, tacking from 
one side of the street to the other with a strange 
raiding noise, and blowing little puffs of smoke 
into the air like a shabby little steam-tug going 
to sea in a storm. 

Now all this was extremely exciting, and 
Dorothy, quite forgetting the rain, ran down 
the street a little way so as to keep the Admiral 
in sight. •• It 's precisely like a doll going trav- 
eling all by itself," she exclaimed as she ran 



92 



THE ADMIRALS CARAVAN, 



[Dec. 



along. " How he rattles ! I suppose that 's 
his little cracked legs — and goodness gracious, 
how he smokes ! " she added, for by this time 
the Admiral had fired up, so to speak, as 
if he were bound on a long journey, and was 
blowing out such clouds of smoke that he 
presently quite shut himself out from view. 
The smoke smelt somewhat like burnt feathers, 
which, of course, was not very agreeable, but 
the worst of it was that when Dorothy turned to 
run home again she discovered that she could n't 
see her way back to the porch, and she was feel- 
ing about for it with her hands stretched out 
when the smoke suddenly cleared away and she 
found that the inn, and Mr. Pendle's shop, and 
Mrs. Peevy's cottage, had all disappeared like a 
street in a pantomime, and that she was standing 
quite alone before a strange little stone house. 

Chapter II. 

THE FERRY TO NOWHERE. 

The rain had stopped and the moon was 
shining through the breaking clouds, and as 
Dorothy looked up at the little stone house she 
saw that it had an archway through it with 
" FERRY " in large letters on the wall above it. 
Of course she had no idea of going by herself 
over a strange ferry ; but she was an extremely 
curious little girl, and so she immediately ran 
through the archway to see what the ferry was 
like and where it took people, but to her sur- 
prise she came out into a strange, old-fashioned 
looking street lined on both sides by tall houses 
with sharply peaked roofs looming up against 
the evening sky. 

There was no one in sight but a stork. He 
was a very tall stork with red legs, and wore a 
sort of paper bag on his head with " ferryman " 
written across the front of it ; and as Dorothy 
appeared he held out one of his claws and said, 
" Fare, please," in quite a matter-of-fact way. 

Dorothy was positively certain that she had n't 
any money, but she put her hand into the 
pocket of her apron, partly for the sake of ap- 
pearances and partly because she was a little 
afraid of the Stork, and, to her surprise, pulled 
out a large cake. It was nearly as big as a 
saucer and was marked " one bisker"; and as 
this seemed to show that it had some value, she 



handed it to the ferryman. The Stork turned it 
over several times rather suspiciously, and then, 
taking a large bite out of it, remarked, " Very 
good fare," and dropped the rest of it into a httle 
hole in the wall ; and having done this he stared 
gravely at Dorothy for a moment, and then said, 
" What makes your legs bend the wrong way ? " 

" Why, they don't ! " said Dorothy, looking 
down at them to see if anything had happened 
to them. 

" They 're entirely different from mine, any- 
how," said the Stork. 

" But, you know," said Dorothy very ear- 
nestly, " I could n't sit down if they bent the 
other way." 

" Sitting down is all very well," said the 
Stork, with a solemn shake of his head, "but 
you could n't collect fares with 'em, to save 
your life," and with this he went into the house 
and shut the door. 

" It seems to me this is a very strange ad- 
venture," said Dorothy to herself. " It ap- 
pears to be mostly about people's legs," and 
she was gazing down again in a puzzled way at 




'^c^ 

* 



"'they're entirely different from mine, anyhow,' 

SAID the stork." 

her little black stockings when she heard a 
cough, and looking up she saw that the Stork 
had his head out of a small round window in 
the wall of the house. 

" Look here," he said confidentially, " there 's 
some poetry about this old ferry. Perhaps you 'd 



1891.] 



THE ADMIRALS CARAVAN. 



93 



like to hear it." He said this in a sort of // leaks into lodgings, disorders 

husky whisper, and as Dorothy looked up at The boarders, 

him it seemed something hke listening to an en- And waslies aivay with their holiday hats. 

ormous cuckoo-clock with a bad cold in its works. 

" Thank you," said Dorothy politely. " I 'd // soaks into shops, and inspires 

The buyers 



like it very much." 




--jr^-^.f'.j^; 








■it seembd like listening to an enormous clckoo-clock. 



To craici I over counters and climb upon 

chairs. 
It trickles on tailors, it spatters 

On hatters. 
And makes little milliners scamper 

upstairs. 

It goes out of town and it rambles 

Through brambles, 
It wallows in hollows and dives into 

dells. 
It Jloic'S into farm-yards and sickens 

The chickens, 
And washes the wheelbarran'S into 
the wells. 

It turns into taverns and drenches 

The benches ; 
It jumps into pumps and comes out 

with a roar ; 
It pounds like a postman at lodges — 

Then dodges 
And runs up the lane when they 
open the door. 

It leaks into laundries and wrangles 

J nth mangles. 
It trips o-i'er turnips and tumbles 

down-hill. 
It rolls like a coach along highiuays 

And by-rvays ; 
But naergets anywhere, go as it -will.' 



" All right," said the Stork. " The werses is Oh, foolish old Ferry / all muddles 
called ' A Ferry Tale ' " ; and, giving another And puddles — 

cough to clear his voice, he began : 



0/1, come and cross over to riowhere, 

And go where 
The nobodies live on their nothing a day .' 
A tideful of tricks is this merry 

Old Ferry, 
And these are the things that it does by the 7i>ay : 

It pours into parks and disperses 

The nurses. 
It goes into gardens and scatters the cats. 



Go fribble and dribble along on your -way ; 
We drink to your health 'with molasses 

In glasses, 
.And waft you famvell with a handful of hay .' 

" What do you make out of it ? " inquired 
the Stork anxiously. 

" I don't make anything out of it," said Doro- 
thy, staring at him in great perplexity. 

" I did n't suppose you would," said the 
Stork, apparently very much relieved. " I 've 



94 



THE ADMIRALS CARAVAN. 



ning-wheels, and a spindle-legged table set out 
with a blue-and-white tea-set, and some cups 
and saucers, and finally a carved sideboard 
which made two or three clumsy attempts to 
get through the doorway broadside on, and 
then took a fresh start, and came through end- 
wise with a great flourish. By this time the 
water was quite up to the window-ledge, and as 
the sideboard was a fatherly-looking piece of 

furniture with plenty of 
room to move about in, 
Dorothy stepped aboard 
of it as it went by, and 
sitting down on a little 
shelf that ran along the 
back of it, sailed away in 
the wake of the tea-table. 
The sideboard be- 
haved in the most absurd 
manner, spinning around 
and around in the water, 
and banging about 
among the other furni- 
ture as if it had never 
been at sea before, and 

'dear me,' said DOROTHY TO HERSELF, 'HERE COMES ALL THE FURNITURE!' ■ finallybringmgUpagamSt 

been at it for years and years, and I 've never the tea-table with a crash and knocking the tea- 
made sixpence out of it yet," with which remark set and all the cups and saucers into the water, 
he quickly pulled in his head and disap- 
peared. 

" I don't know what he means, I 'm 
sure," said Dorothy, after waiting a mo- 
ment to see if the Stork would come back, 
"but I would n't go over that ferry for 
sixty sixpences. It 's altogether too frol- 
icky"; and having made this wise reso- 
lution, she was just turning to go back 
through the archway, when the door of 
the house flew open, and a stream of water 
poured out so suddenly that she had just 
time to scramble up on the window-ledge 
before the street was completely flooded. 

" I suppose it 's something wrong with 
the pipes," she said to herself, in her 
thoughtful way ; " and, dear me, here 
comes all the furniture ! " and, sure enough, 
a lot of old-fashioned furniture came float- 
ing out of the house and drifted away 
down the street. There was a comer 
cupboard full of crockery, and two spin- 

( To be continued. ) 





^^^-^.K) 







snow. 



^nt^ 



//J 



Dear Santa Llaus : I:__J^^v>^^ ■ , 

You brought a sled --31^ ' rRW H 

To me a year ago; I -r^^ilh l' ( ^'' 

And when you come again I isifri^^iiM' 



hope 
You '11 bring along some 



Willie. 








CHRISTMAS EVE. 



By M. M. 1). 



All night long the pine-trees wait, 
Dark heads bowed in solemn state, 
Wondering what may be the fate 

Of little Norway Spruce. 

T.itlle Norway Spruce who stood 

( )iily lately in the wood. 

Did they take him for his good — 

'I'hey who bore him off? 

Little Norway Spruce so trim. 
Lithe, and free, and strong of limb! 
All the pines were proud of him ; 

Now his place is bare. 



All that night the little tree 
In the dark stood patiendy, 
p\ar away from forest free. 

Laden for the mom. 

Chained and laden, but intent. 
On the pines his thoughts were bent ; 
They might tell him what it meant. 
If lie could but go! 

Morning came. The children. " See ! 
Oh, our glorious Christmas-tree!" — 
Gifts for every one had he ; 

Then he understood. 



95 



CoKULK 





A traveler's adventure. 



By J. T. Trowbridge. 



T happened a good 
many years ago, 
when I was seeing 
Italy for the first 



enthusiasm and a 
very small capital in 
the way of money. 

As it is the only 
adventure I ever 
had, I was, in my 
younger days, rather proud of it. It had come to 
be an old story with me, however, and I had 
about lost my interest in telling it, when it was 



stools. He sat on one, with a bandaged foot 
resting on the other, and a pair of crutches 
across his knees. He was evidently a beggar- 
boy, lying in wait for passers-by, in a capital 
time, on a very large situation for intercepting them ; they must step 
capital of youthful out of their way to get around him, or march 

over his leg, which was still more inconvenient, 
or wait for him to lift it, which he never did 
without a whining appeal for alms. 

Behind him, helping to bar the way, sat an 
old cobbler by the door of the den, plying his 
trade in the open air, as is the custom with the 
minor craftsmen of Naples. On the other side 
of the doorway, also aiding in the obstruction 
of the sidewalk, was a washerwoman bent over 



recalled to my mind by an incident that rounds her tub, scrubbing her clothes on a rough stone 
it out with a curious sequel. Let me begin at slab that served in place of washboard. 



the wrong end of my narrative, and relate the 
more recent circumstance first. 

This occurred during a second visit to Naples, 
only a short time ago. In one of my morning 
rambles I came upon a characteristic street 
scene near the old grotto of Posilipo. 

In front of a l>asso — one of those human 
dens that open, on a level with the street, into 



I was fumbling in my pocket for a small coin 
to pay the toll the boy levied at his improvised 
toll-gate, when his attention was diverted in an- 
other direction. 

A small bundle of hay fell from a peasant's 
cart that was passing, and the boy, throwing 
aside his crutches, ran to secure the prize on 
two as nimble legs as ever boy had. He was 



the tall Neapolitan houses, and are occupied bearing it off with agiUty, when a man who 
by the poorer people both as dwellings and could run faster, and probably wanted the hay 
shops — was a bare-headed and bare-legged more, took it from him and hurried away with 
boy, near the middle of the sidewalk, on two it in another direction. 

96 



THE CORNER OF THE COLL MX. 



97 



But neither was he permitted to get off in 
peace with his booty. The old cobbler, who 
had looked on placitlly when the boy was the 
thief, felt his moral sense outraged when the 
man became the robber. He raised an outcry 
that was taken up by others ; the peasant, 
warned of his loss, jumped from his cart, and 
ran back to receive the bundle, which the man, 
suddenly turned honest, advanced to deliver uj) 
to him with obliging good-nature, and an ac- 
cusatory shake of the hand at the boy. The 
boy laughed, pleased that nobody else should 
enjoy the booty he had lost, and returned to 
his crutches and his two stools. I had in the 
mean while passed on, when, looking back. I 
saw him readjusting his bandaged foot, and put- 
ting on a piteous expression for his next victim. 

Returning in a short time and remembering the 
trap, I avoided it by keeping the opposite side 
of the street. But the boy was equal to every 
emergency. He was on his crutches and one 
foot in a moment, and hobbling over to head 
me off, with the bandagetl limb tlangling in a 
way to excite compassion in the hardest heart. 

" Something for a miserable cripple, good, 
generous signor ! " he entreated, putting out his 
grimy paw. 

I could n't help laughing at the shameless 
imposture even while I put my hand in my 
pocket. 

" If you want it," I said, showing him a coin, 
" run for it ! Vou can run ; I have seen \ ou." 

His whine changed to a laugh as he dropped 
his bandaged foot, and all ])retense of lameness 
along with it, and still held out his hand for the 
coin. The woman laughetl, too, as she turned 
from her tub, and offered to explain the situation. 

Curious to know what excuse she could make 
for him, I stepped across the street, with the 
vivacious little beggar carrying his crutches 
and caj)ering before me. 

.Although 1 could speak a little Italian, 1 was 
overwhelmed and bewildered by the flood of 
Neajjolitan gabble she let loose upon me. The 
old cobbler in the mean time had dropped his 
work, and sat listening to her and watching me 
with good-natured interest in the little drama. 

i was evidently taken for a rrenchinan, for, 
when she appealed to him to interpret for her, 
he said, with a very bad accent : 
Vol. .\L\. -7. 



" Monsieur est Fmti'^ais ? " 
" No," 1 replied in the same language, " but 
I speak French. What is she tr)-ing to tell me ? " 
"That you will do right to give something 
to this poor orphan." 
" But he is not lame ! " 

'■ Xo, not at all lame, this one. It is his 
cousin who is lame. Since he is in the hospital 
to be cured this one borrows his crutches and 
begs for him. A good boy, a very good boy, 
I assure you ! " 

His peculiar pronunciation of the word gar- 
(<m, the French for " boy," amused and startled 
me ; I will explain why, farther on. 

"He is your son — this oq:)han?" I said, 
looking from the man to the boy, and finding, 
as I fancied, a family resemblance. 

" Not my son," he replied, " but my grand- 
son. His father is my son, 
vA and he has gone off to 

Jl ^'^ i . America, so we call him 

f ■ 'MJF ^^ ^n orphan. This woman 

' ^-— ^^ is his mother. A verj- 

honest, good boy, I 
promise you ! " 
There it was 



again — the 



that 




s-u 



carrietl my min»l back 

so many years, and 

accompanied by a 

THE BKccARBov. look out of thc eycs 

which I succeeded at last in bringing into the 

focus of my memory. 

" Is n't your name .\ngelo ? '' 1 said. 
" A'es," he rej^lied. without astonishment : 
•Angelo Colli — at your service, monsieur!" 
" Vou were once a guide on the other side of 
the hill of Posilipo ? " 



98 



THE CORNER OF THE COLUMN. 



[Dec. 










VIEW OF NAPLES, FROM THE TOMB OF VIRGIL. 



" True, monsieur, I was a guide many years, 
to Pozzuoli, Baja, and all that region." 

" Ah ! and do you remember one you guided 
once, a young American who gave you a lesson 
in French pronunciation ? " 

The old cobbler shook his head. " No, I 
don't remember; I was a guide to so many 
people." He remained calm and stolid while 
my mind lighted up with vivid recollections. 

I could n't be mistaken :n my man; and I 
knew that by a word, or even a gesture, I could 
jog his dormant memory. 

" Angelo ColH, you certainly cannot have 
forgotten — " But I hesitated. 

It was thirty years before that I first made 
his acquaintance. An admirable guide he was 
then, tireless, talkative, with a sufficient know- 
ledge of the country, a fund of historical mis- 
information, and some command of bad French. 

I remember I had visited the tomb of Virgil 
that morning (I am talking about the earlier 



adventure), and gathered a leaf from the lemon- 
tree that shaded it then, as perhaps it does 
now if relic-hunters have n't hacked it quite 
away. Then I had descended from that com- 
manding hillside and entered the Grotto of 
Posilipo, without any definite plan of what I 
intended to do. Nothing was further from my 
thoughts than to set out on such a tramp as I 
afterward undertook. 

But the grotto was enchanting. It is an an- 
cient gallery roughly hewn through the moun- 
tain, between Naples and the wonderful region 
that opens upon the other side. 

Narrow, lofty, begrimed with the smoke and 
dust of centuries; lighted dimly by a row of 
lamps that dwindled in the distance, and be- 
came lost in the glimmering disk of daylight at 
the opposite end ; filled with the musical tinkle 
of bells from the flocks of goats that had been 
driven into the city to be milked at people's 
doors, and were now going out again, attended by 
rough and swarthy goatherds; singing peasant 



1891.1 



Till-: (OKNEK OF THK COI-UMX. 



99 



girls, with burdens on their heads ; donk(?ys them — fell back to let him have his way with 
loaded with great panniers of vegetables; a me. He was very persuasive. How could I 
company of soldiers — such was the grotto, think of going back to Naples when I had such 
with the moving life in it, on the January a day, as might not soon come again, for view- 
morning when I first beheld it, with the keen ing the finest scenery and the most curious 
senses of ardent ,w^ 

youth open to every n^Iv* ' - 

sight and sound. ' - 

I kept on, eager 
to see what was at 
the other end ; and 
there, on the thresh- 
old of tliis rctfion 
of wonders, extinct 
volcanoes, here a 
lake that was once 
a crater, there a 
crater still smoking, 
vineyards growing 
on old lava-fields, 
villas, villages, ruins, 
with the loveliest 
views of capes and 
bays and mountain- 
forms — there, as I 
say, I picked up my 
guide. 

Or, rather, he 
picked me up. It 
was Angelo Colli in 
the prime of man- 
hood — not then the 
grizzled and bent 
old cobbler, but a 
robust fellow of 
forty, with black hair 
and in the prime 
of health. Athletic 
limbs in corduroy 
knee-breeches ; a 
brown hat worn well 
on the back of his 
head, the ample 

brim slightly rolled up in front, displaying his 
wavy locks, low, full forehead, antl strong black 
eyebrows; in |)lace of a hatband, a many-colored 
silken braid knotted on one side, and dangling 
gaily over his ear — that was the jjicturesque if 
not exactly handsome guide who accosted me. 

The other guides — there were a half do/en of 




ENTRANlE TO THE C.KHTTO OK Pt^SII.IPO. 

siirhts in tiie world? I ou^ht at least to see the 
drotta di Cane, or Ca\e of the l)i>g: it was 
close by, only a step; he could take me to it at 
once, and it woukl cost me but a trille — almost 
notiiing. 

I found it a good many steps: but the day 
was delightful, and there was nothing beneath 



lOO 



THE CORNER OF THE COLUMN. 



[Dec. 



that glorious southern heaven nor on that mar- till" we came upon such views of sea and land, 

velous spot of earth that did n't interest me. mountains, and islands, and shores, as can be 

In the side of the old crater was, and still seen nowhere but in the vicinity of Naples — 

is, the Grotta di Cane, or Cave of the Dog, of the Bay of Pozzuuli opening into the Mediter- 




THE ISLAND OF NISIUA AND THE BAY OF POZZl'OLI. 



which the most I remember is that at a sharp 
whistle from Angelo the keeper appeared with 
a trembling cur under his arm. 

" What is he going to do with that poor lit- 
tle thing ? " I asked. 

" He will place him on the ground in the 
grotto ; and monsieur will have the pleasure 
to see his life extinguished by the bad air in 
a few seconds. That is what he has fear of; 
he has died in that grotto, and been brought 
to life again a hundred times, to give satisfac- 
tion to strangers." 

" Hold on there ! " I cried, " you will give me 
more satisfaction by letting the dog go." 

The one thing interesting about the grotto 
was its position in the side of the ancient 
crater. Seeing that I cared more for volcanoes 
than for dying dogs, Angelo offered to take me 
to one that was still active — La Solfatara — 
only a short stejj, //;/ petit pas, further on. If 
it was not all he described it to be, then I 
should give liim nothing ! 

On we went again, leaving the lake on our 
right, and the steep sides of Monte Spina on 
our left, and following a footpath over the hills 



ranean, Procida, Ischia, the rocky Cape of 
Miseno (where, according to Virgil, /Eneas 
built the sepulcher of Misenus and gave the 
cape its name), Nisida quite near (the island to 
which Brutus fled after the murder of Caesar), 
Capri in the azure distance, Pozzuoli before us 
(where St. Paul once abode seven days), and 
other famous names, the mere mention of which 
has a charm for the memory. 

A good many steps again, the last of them 
steeply ascending, brought us to the hollow 
cave of La Solfatara. Angelo was n't quite 
right in claiming it as a still active volcano ; 
that could hardly be said of a crater we could 
walk about in and comfortably inspect at our 
leisure. But the ground was, in places, not firm 
under our feet. Choking vapors rose all about 
us from the porous and hollow earth that floored 
the ancient crater, and from fissures in the steej), 
rough sides; and there certainly was one large 
chasm from which issued a cloud of sulphurous 
fumes. 

Of course, La Solfatara did not compare in 
terrible grandeur with Vesuvius, which I vis- 
ited later. But then, you cannot walk into the 



iSgi 1 



THE CORNER OF THE Col.UMX. 



lOI 



crater of Vesuvius, and you would n't want to 
if you could. 

Beyond La Solfatara is I'ozzuoli, between 
the hills and the sea. if we descended that 
way, the ancient amphitheater would be " less 
than a step " out of our course. 

So we saw the amphitheater ; after which I 
was easily persuaded to keep on to the Temple 
of Serapis, down by the further shore. A ruin. 
but a very interesting one, it has been halt- 



of the splintered Corinthian capitals of the por- 
tico of the temple. It was a thing of little 
value in the eyes of the custodian, who permit- 
ted me to keep it on my handing him an extra 

fee. 

It was a roughish bit of marble, about two 
thirds the size of my fist, with one coarsely frac- 
tured side, which fitted very well into the palm 
of mv hand. The reverse side was sculptured 
to a bluntish edge. 




Kl'INS OF THK TEMI'I.E OF SERAPIS AT IMZ/IOI.I. 



sunken in the sea, from which it has partly 
emerged again, as is shown by the three great 
columns, (hsmanUed but majestic, lliat still re- 
main upright. 

What made tlie vi>il to tliis spot memorable 
to me was a reli«- 1 picked up there I''rom a 
heai) of fractured friezes and broken c»)lumns. 
which are supposed to have been overthrown 
by the aforesaid shell- fish undermining their 
bases, I took a fragment of marble whiih had 
once, to all ai)pearance. formed a corner nl one 



I am not a relic-hunter, but I have often 
obeyed an impulse to carry oft" such things, 
which I have invariably given away afterwanl, 
if. indee.l, I have n't tiuown them away as soon 
as the first ardor of jiossession has had time to 
cool. Luckily, I did not throw this away. 

We saw something more of Pozzuoh, anil 
finallv walked inti^ a restaurant that looked out 
pleasantly on the small harbor, where we had 
some much-needed rest and refreshment. Wc 
sat long over a bottle of Chianti wine, of which 



I02 



THE CORNER OF THE COLUMN. 



[Dec. 



Angelo drank by far the larger share, smacking 
his Ups with satisfaction, while he told me, in 
his very bad French, of his way of life and of 
his little family. 

He had much to say of his boy; carzoii he 
called him (for gar(ou) in his execrable accent. 
He used the word so often that I became an- 
noyed by it, and gave him his lesson in French, 
which I never forgot, if he did. 

" Look here, Angelo ! " I said. " You speak 
French very well, but your pronunciation of one 
word is bad. Why do you always say carzon ? " 

" What should I say ? " 

" Say gai\-oii.'" 

" Very well. Carzon." And he thanked me 
for correcting him. 

" But you still say carzon. It is not carzon, 
but garfon.'' 

" I see ! " he rephed, laughing. " I must n't 
say carzon, but carzon." 

" You say carzon all the time ! Now, give 
attention, and pronounce each syllable after 
me. Gar." 

" Gar" said Angelo, 

" gon." 

" ^on." So far so good. 

" Now, gar-pn." 

" Car-zon .'" he exclaimed, thumping the table 
desperately. 

And with all my drill I could n't get him to 
say anything else when he came to put the sep- 
arated syllables together. At last my patience 
gave out, and I left him to his carzon, which 
served his purpose well enough. The word, it 
seems, stuck to him all his life, for it was this 
word, several times repeated, when applied to 
his grandson, that gave me a clue to his iden- 
tity so many years after. 

When we went out of the restaurant, he tried 
to induce me to visit other interesting places 
near by. But it was getting very late. There 
was then no tramway from Pozzuoli to Naples, 
as there is now, and I could n't aftbrd a citadinc. 
That is what the little one-horse Neapolitan car- 
riage was called in those days. It is a carroz- 
zella now. 

No, I would positively proceed no further, 
but I would walk back to Naples ; and to get 
a new experience I would return by another 
route. We kept the shore of the bay as far as 



Bagnoli, a little village of hot springs and a 
few poor houses of entertainment, where I said 
to Angelo : 

" Now, my good friend, we must part. I go 
over the Collina," the hill or promontory of 
Posilipo, beneath which I had passed, through 
the ancient grotto, on my outward trip in the 
morning. 

" But it will soon be dark," he protested. 
" It will not be safe for you to go alone." 

" How not safe ? " I looked at my pocket- 
map. "It is perfectly plain; I shall not lose 
the way." 

" But the brigands ! " said Angelo. " You 
may meet with some unlucky adventure." And 
he told of travelers who had lately been robbed 
at night on that lonely mountain-road. 

I laughed at his brigands, with a secret feel- 
ing of uneasiness, however, I must admit. 

" You are armed, perhaps ? " he said. " You 
have a pistol ? " 

" No," I replied ; " and I should n't use it if 
I had." 

I always liked rough old Dr. Johnson, despite 
his bearishness, for saying to Boswell that he 
would n't like to shoot a highwayman. And 
Emerson's noble line, 

Unarmed, face danger with a heart of trust, — 

appealed to something deeper in my heart than 
fear. 

Angelo ColH could n't understand any such 
nonsense as that. "What!" he said, "you 
would n't kill a man who attempted to rob you ? " 

" I should dislike very much to kill a man to 
save even my own life," I answered. " And to 
save a little money ! — I 'd sooner lose a great 
deal than have such a deed on my conscience. 
A brigand may have been no worse a man at 
heart than you or I, Angelo, but for the circum- 
stances that have made him what he is." 

All this was incomprehensible to honest Colli. 

" You have much money ! " He had seen 
the inside of my pocket-book at the restaurant, 
and no doubt wiiat seemed little to me, with 
my hotel bills and traveling expenses to pay, 
appeared much to him. "And your watch — 
a gold watch, monsieur ! You had better let me 
go with you. They may attack you alone, but 
they will not attack us two ; besides, they know 



THE CORNER OF THE COLUMN. 



103 



1891.I 

me too well. It is further for me to go Uiat 

way ; but you need pay me only a tnfle." 

Was he really so solicitous for my safety, or 
was it the extra recompense he was after? It 
was not this that deterred me from employmg 
him, but the truth is 1 had had enough of 
\n-elo. The best guide, in an all-day e.vcur- 
^ion, may become tiresome at last. My inmost 
spirit was sore from the incessant sound of his 
voice with its rasping accent. I longed for the 
silent companionship of my own thoughts on 
that lonely mountain-road. 

1 had taken the precaution to make some 
sort of bargain with him in the morning; and, 
at parting, an extra coin or two -for his /^/// 
^ar(oti at home -seemed to touch him. 

" I will go with you for nothing ! " he ex- 
claimed. But I would not permit that. " Well, 
then, if anything happens to you, call me ; call 
Angelo Colli as loudly as you can." 

» Little good that will do," I replied, "with 
the mountain between us ! " 

"That is true," he said; " we shall be miles 
apart. But everybody knows Angelo Colli, 
and just the sound of my name may do you 

good." , 

" Well " I said, smihng at the idea, but still 
with some misgivings, Mf 1 fall in with any 
brigands I will call you. Good-by, Angelo : 

-Bon soir, monsuw/" and he stood waving 
me his adieus with his picturesque hat, remain- 
ing at the foot of the road, while I commenced 
the long and winding ascent. 

I was weary enough; night was fast closing 
in and I had some four miles yet to go. But 1 
forgot everything else, even Angelo's bngands. 
in the solace of that high and .silent and solemn 
walk For much of the way there was no sound 
but my own footsteps and the roar of the sea 
breaking on the base of the promontory. As I 
turned \n look bac k from some commanding 
point the views of bays and islands, capes and 
clouds, and mountain heads in the afterglow 
of evening, were like glimpses of some diviner 
worid. Once 1 yielded to the enchantment, 
and sat tlown to rest. 

The glory had faded, and it was growing 
,,vute dark, ulun 1 got up and went on. Two 
or three carts or carriages passed. .\nd now 
and then 1 met a man. alone and on foot like 



myself, to whom I gave a wide berth, with 
more regard for Angelo's "brigand" than I 
cared to acknowledge to myself. But the most 
frightful object I saw was a peasant loommg out 
of the gloom with a huge pannier on his back. 
I had passed out of sight of the sea; there 
were high walls on both sides, not a star over- 
head I had wanted solitude, and I was getting 
enough of it. I could hardly see the ground 
under my feet. The sound of the sea had died 
in the distance, but it was n't long before I 
heard it again, faint at first, then increasingly 
loud, but before me instead of behind. I knew 
that I had passed the crest of the promontory. 
Then, as I kept on, descending the further 
slope, what a sight met my eyes! -the Bay of 
Naples outspread before me, with here and 
there the red beam of a ship's lantern on the 
dim expanse; the distant lights of Portici and 
Torre del Greco on the opposite shore ; and, 
hi-.h over all, the pulsing fire of Vesuvius 
slowly climbing and falling in the darkness 
, with 'every throe of the volcano. 

Further on, a curve in the road brought me 
in view of Naples, with its thousand lights, 
making the mountain-side on which it is built 
look like another volcano, with a core of fire 
shining through innumerable holes. 

I had forgotten all about Angelo's highway- 
men when suddenly the figure of a man started 
out from the shadow of a wall in the road 
before me. The movement was silent and 
stealthy, and it was so dark that I should not 
have seen him if he had not come between me 
and the lights of the city. 

I was on the side of the way toward the 
SCI- he had appeared from the other side 
'\s he moved over toward me, 1 attemiUed 
verv quietly to change sides with him, or at 
least to test his intentions; but as I edgetl over 
he edged back again, and I found myself meet- 
ing him face to face. 

A curdling chill crept over me as I said to 
mvself " Perhaps .\ngelo was right, after all." 
'it is n't courage that causes a man to carry 
a deadlv weapon on any ordinary occasion, and 
in my cool moments I could say as I had said 
to \ngelo, that I would never use one. But 
now fwas not cool; and I had something like 
a weapon in my hanil. 



I04 



THE CORNER OF THE COLUMN. 



[Dec. 



It was the fragment of marble I had picked 
up among the ruins of the Temple of Serapis. 

Feeling it dangling in my side-pocket, I had 
taken it out, and for the past ten minutes had 
been carrying it in my hands, changing it occa- 
sionally from one to the other, and enjoying its 
coolness in my fevered palms. 

Finding I could n't pass the man on either 
side, I stopped in the middle of the road. He 
stopped too. There was a moment of appalling 
silence. He wore a formless sort of hat, pulled 
well over his eyes ; a dark handkerchief muffled 
his face. There was something in his attitude 
like that of a man prepared to make a violent 
lunge. His head was thrust forward ; his arms 
were crooked up at his sides. 

The sentiment of Emerson's inspiring line 
suddenly deserted me ; my " heart of trust " flut- 
tered disgracefully. 

"What do you want?" I said in Italian. 
" Money ! " he answered gruffly, in the clip- 
ped Neapolitan accent, behind his muffler. 

" But you can 't have it ! " I said, stepping 
back, with my left side turned toward him and 
my right arm swung behind. 

I had quite forgotten to call Angelo Colli, and 
even if I had remembered my promise to him 
it is n't at all pr bable that I should have kept 
it. In the crisis that had come, nobody on the 
other side of the mountain could do me any 
good ; I must take care of myself, or, rather, of 
my money. The loss of that, in a foreign land, 
would involve me in endless difficulty. 

As I stepped back the fellow made his lunge, 
and seized my left arm. I let him hold it ; he 
was a powerful man, and any trial of strength 
with him would have been folly on my part. I 
wore a light overcoat, which was unbuttoned 
and hanging open. It gave him easy access to 
my pockets, which he proceeded to pilfer with 
one hand while holding me with the other. 

Then this, as nearly as I can remember, is 
what happened. 

I had the piece of marble in my right hand, 
and, as he was stooping to his work, I fetched 
him an upward stroke with it — not so hard as 
I might, but hard enough — close under his 
hat-brim. He loosed his hold of me in an in- 
stant; he was the most unheroic brigand you 
can conceive of There was n't anything ro- 



mantic about him. He just sprawled away 
from me, and went down on all-fours in a 
manner that was simply ridiculous. 

But there was nothing ridiculous in the great 
groan he gave as he settled to the ground. 
I had started to run the moment I knocked 




.f\I„t^'iit.,-i\^ 



THE STRUGGLE ON THE ROAD WITH THE "BRIGAND." 



him over, but I had n't gone many steps 
before I checked the cowardly movement, and 
stopped to listen and look back. I could see 
nothing ; the fellow evidently lay where he had 
fallen ; but I heard another low groan. 

I ijuickly reasoned myself out of my fears, and 



iSgi.] 



THE CORNER OF THE COLUMN'. 



IQ: 



went back. He wa.s probably no more armed 
than I was, or even less so, for I still grasped 
the stone I had struck him with. There had been 
something awkward and amateurish about his 
performance that quite lost him my respect. 
He was not a neat-handed highwayman. 

It was an immense relief to find him strug- 
gling to his feet, for my final fear was that he 
would never quit that spot without the help 
of other feet than iiis own. Hat anil hand- 
kerchief had fallen oft"; a shapely head of loose 
wavy hair rose up before me. I regarded him 
with astonishment. 

" Angelo I " I e.vclaimed. 

" y<f Tous deinande pardon, monsieur y he 
murmured humbly. 

" Why did you do so foolish a thing ? " I said. 
" You got what you deserved." 

" True ! " he replied, feeling the side of his 
forehead in a dazed sort of way. " I am paid 
for a stupid joke." 

'• A joke, Angelo I " 

" I assure you, monsieur I I wished to see 
what you would really do if a man asked for 
your money. After what you said, I felt a 
curiosity." 

■• Well, Angelo Colli, I trust your curiosity 
is gratified 1 And do you wish to know what I 
shall do next ? Denounce you to the police 1 " 

" Oh, monsieur ! " he expostulated, '• think 
of my w ife, and my petit carzon — carzon / " He 
tried to correct himself, remembering my 
lesson. 

" On one condition I will pardon you,'" I 
replie(i, while he picked up his hat and me- 
chanically brushed it with his handkerchief 
while pressing it into shape, for I found he 
had turned it inside out in order to disguise 
himself. " Tell me the exact truth. Vou 
meant to rob me ! " 

He shrugged expressively, and put on his hat. 
'• A little money is so much to us jwor peo- 
ple! and the loss would be nothing to you. I 
would n't have harmetl you. I believed what 
you said, and did n't expect such a blow. If 
all .\mericans have such fists, there 's no need 
that any of vou should <'o armed." 

I had slipped the stone back into mv pocket. 



and I did n't explain that it was the corner of 
the stone capital of a column of the Temple 
of Serapis that had collided with the tem])le of 
Angelo Colli. 

His knowledge of the by-paths in Posilipo 
had enabled him to get ahead of me. He 
appeared extremely contrite, and again he pro- 
posed to favor me with his company as I'ar as 
Naples. But I would have none of it. I left 
him standing in the road, a dark and silent 
figure, and hurried on. 

And this was the '• brigand " whom I found, 
so many years later, transformed into an old 
cobbler in Naples, and grandfather of the little 
fraud with the crutches and the bandaged leg. 

I concluded not to remind him of our pre- 
vious encounter. 

" So, you have a son in America ? " I said. 
" America is a good place. I come from that 
country." 

He turned up at me interested eyes, the 
same eyes that had looked into mine, across the 
table at Pozzuoli, w hen he tokl me of his prom- 
ising boy so long ago. 

" Do you go back there ? " he inquired. 

" I hope to, some time." 

"Well, if you see my Angelo tell him that we 
are well, and that his son is growing up to be a 
fine boy, a very honest, good boy I " {L n Ihaii 
carzon, un tn's /lonnete, ban carzon .' ) 

And he looked with pride and satisfaction 
at the lad, who was at that moment hobbling 
across the street to beg of an English tourist 
passing upon the other .side. 

"In what part of .Vnierica is your son?" I 
inquired. 

•• In Mexico, if he has n't gone up into 
Brazil." 

" \'ery well. If I see him I will tell him. 
.Meanwhile keep the boy honest. Keep him 
honest ! .Vdieu, Angelo Colli I " 

'• Bon jour, monsieur .'" s.ud Angelo. 

I never saw him again. 

As for the corner of the capital of the col- 
umn of the Temple of Serapis, that bit of stone 
is one of the few relics I still have in my limited 
colic* lion. 



THE LONG HILLSIDE. 

A CHRISTMAS HARE-HUNT IN OLD VIRGINIA. 



By Thomas Nelson Page. 



There do not seem to be as many hares now 
as there used to be when I was a boy. Then 
the " old fields " and branch-bottoms used to 
be full of them. They were peculiarly our 
game ; I mean we used to consider that they 
belonged to us boys. They were rather scorned 
by the " gentlemen," by which was meant the 
grown-up gentlemen, who shot partridges over 
the pointers, and only picked up a hare when 
she got in their way ; and the negroes used to 
catch them in traps or " gums," which were 
traps made of hollow gum-tree logs; but we 
boys were the hare-hunters. They were our 
property from our childhood ; just as much, we 
considered, as " Bruno " and " Don," the beauti- 
ful " crack " pointers, with their brown eyes and 
satiny ears and coats, were " the gentlemen's." 

The negroes used to set traps all the fall 
and winter, and we, with the natural tendency 
of boys to imitate whatever is wild and prim- 
itive, used to set traps also. To tell the truth, 
however, the hares appeared to have a way of 
going into the negroes' traps, rather than into 
ours, and the former caught many to our one. 

Even now, after many years, I can remem- 
ber the delight of the frosty mornings ; the joy 
with which we used to peep through the little 
panes of the dormer-windows at the white frost 
over the fields, which promised stronger chances 
of game being caught ; the eagerness with 
which, obhvious of the cold, we sped through 
the garden, across the field, along the ditch 
banks, and up by the woods, making the round 
of our traps; the expectancy with which we 
peeped over the whitened weeds and through 
the bushes, to catch a glimpse of the gums 
in some "parf" or at some clearly marked 
" gap " ; our disappointment when we found 
the door standing open and the trigger set 
just as we had left it the morning before; our 
keen delight when the door was down; the 



dash for the trap ; the scufifle to decide which 
should look in first ; the peep at the brown ball 
screwed up back at the far end; the delicate 
operation of getting the hare out of the trap ; 
and the triumphant return home, holding up our 
spoil to be seen from afar. We were happier 
than we knew. 

So far to show how we came to regard hares 
as our natural game, and how, though we had 
to grow up to be bird-hunters, as boys we were 
hare-hunters. The rush, the cheers, the yells, 
the excitement were a part of the sport, to us 
boys the best part. 

Of course, to hunt hares we had to have dogs 
— at least boys must have — the noise, the dash, 
the chase are half the battle. 

And such dogs as ours were ! 

It was not allowable to take the bird-dogs 
after hares. I say it was not allowable; I do 
not say it was not done, for sometimes, of 
course, the pointers would come, and we could 
not make them go back. But the hare-dogs 
were the puppies and curs, terriers, watch-dogs, 
and the nondescript crew which belonged to 
the negroes, and to the plantation generally. 

What a pack they were ! Thin, undersized 
black-and-tans, or spotted beasts of very doubtful 
breed, called " houn's"by courtesy; long-legged, 
sleepy watch-dogs from the " quarters," brindled 
or " yaller " mongrels, which even courtesy 
could not term other than " kyur dogs " ; sharp- 
voiced " fises," busier than bees, hunting Hke 
fury, as if they expected to find rats in every 
tuft of grass ; and, when the hares got up, boun- 
cing and bobbing along, not much bigger than 
the " molly cottontails " they were after, get- 
ting in every one's way and receiving sticks and 
stones in profusion, but with their spirits un- 
broken. And all these were in one incongruous 
pack, growling, running, barking, ready to steal, 
fight, or hunt, whichever it happened to be. 



THE LONG HILLSIDE. 



107 



We used to have hunts on Saturdays, just we The pack of dogs I have described, fully re- 
boys, with perhajjs a black boy or two of our cruited, were hanging around, growling and 
particular cronies ; but the great hunt was " in snarling, sneaking into the kitchen and being 
the hohdays" — that is, about Christmas. Then kicked out by Aunt Betty and her corps of 
all the young darkies about the place were free varicolored assistants, largely augmented at the 
and ready for sport. approach of Christmas with its cheer. The 

This Christmas hunt was an event. yelping of the mongrel pack, the shouts and 

It was the year 186-, and, Christmas day whoops of the boys, and the laughter of the 
falling on a Sunday, Saturday was given as the maids or men about the kitchen and back- 
first day of the holidays. It had been a fine yard, all in their best clothes and in high spirits, 
fall ; the cover was good, and old hares were were exhilarating, and with many whoops and 
]ilentiful. It had been determined some time much '• hollering," we climbed the yard fence, 
l)ef()re Christmas that we would have a big and, disdaining a road, of course, set out down 
hare-hunt on that day, and the " boys " — that is, the hill across the field, taking long strides, each 
the young darkies — came to the house from the one bragging loudly of what he would do. 
quarters, prepared, and by the time breakfast Let me see : there were John and Andrew 
was over they were waiting for us around the and Black Peter, and Bow-legged Saul, and 
kitchen door. Breakfast was always late about Milker-Tim, and Billy, and Uncle Limpy-Jack, 
Christmas time ; perhaps the spareribs and sau- and others now forgotten, and the three white 
sages and the jelly, dripping through a blanket boys. And the dogs, " Ole Ratder," and " Ole 
hung over the legs of an upturned table, ac- Ximrod," who had always been old by their 
counted for it; and on this Christmas eve it names, and who were regarded with reverence 
was ten by the tall clock in the corner of the akin to fetish-worship because they were popu- 
dining-room before we were through. When larly supposed to be able to trail a hare. It 
we came out, the merry darkies were waiting was a delusion, I am now satisfied ; for I cannot 
for us around the kitchen door, grinning and recall that they ever trailed one certainly three 
showing their shining teeth, and laughing and feet. Then there were the " guard dawgs " : 
shouting, and calling the dogs. They were not " Hector," brindled, bob-tailed, and ugly, and 
allowed to have guns; but our guns, long old "Jerry," yellow, long-tailed, and mean; then 
single-barrels handed down for at least two gen- there was "Jack," tat, stumpy, and ill-natured ; 
erations, had been carried out and cleaned, and there were the two pointers, Bruno, and Don, 
they were handing them around, inspecting and the beauties and pride of the family, with a 
aiming them with as much pride as if they had pedigree like a prince's, \vho, like us, were 
been brand-new. There was only one excep- taking a holiday hunt, but, unlike us. without 
tion to this rule : Uncle Limpy-Jack, so called permission; "Rock," L^ncle Limpy-Jack's 
because he had one leg shorter than the other, " hyah dawg," and then the two terriers "Snip" 
was allowed to have a gun. He was a sort of anil " Snap." 

l)rofessional hunter about the place. No lord We beat the banks of the spring ditch for 

was ever prouder of a special privilege handed form's sake, though there was small chance of 

down in his family for generations. a hare there, because it was pasture and the 

The other fellows were armed with stout banks were kci)t clean. Then we made for 
sticks and made much noise. Uncle Limpy- the old field beyond, the tlogs spreading out 
jack was, as stated, the only e\cei)tion ; he was and nosing around la/ily. each on his own 
grave as became a " man " who was a hunter hook. Whether because of the noise we made 
by business, and " war n't arter no foolishness." and their seeking safety in flight, or because 
He allowed no one to touch his gun, which they were otT "taking holiday,"* as the negroes 
thus possessed a special value. He carried his claimed, no hares were found, and after a half- 
powder in a gourd and his shot in an old rag. hour our ardor was a little dampened. But 

* The hares, according to the negroes, used to take hohdays and would not go into traps in this season ; so the 

only way to get thcni was by hunting them. 



io8 



THE LONG HILLSIDE. 



[Dec. 



we soon set to work in earnest and began to 
beat a little bottom lying between two hills, 
through which ran a ditch, thickly grown up 
with bushes and briers. The dead swamp- 
grass was very heavy in the narrow little bot- 
tom along the sides, and was matted in tufts. 
The dogs were scattered, and prowling around 
singly or in couples; and only one of the 
pointers and Snip were really on the ditch. 
Snip showed signs of great industry, and went 
bobbing backward and forw^ard through a 
patch of heavy, matted grass. In any other 
dog this might have excited suspicion, even 
hope ; there are some dogs, however, who are 
natural liars. Snip was one of them. Snip's 
failing was so well known that no attention was 
paid to him. He gave, indeed, a short bark, 
and bounced up two or three times like a trap- 
ball, looking both ways at once ; this action, 
however, only called down upon him universal 
derision. 

just then, however, a small boy pointed over 
to the top of the hill calling, '' Look-a yander," 
and shouts arose, " Dyah she go ! " " Dyah 
she go ! " " Dyah she go ! " Sure enough, 
there, just turning the hill, went a " molly 
cotton," bouncing. In a second we were all 
in full chase and cry, shouting to each other, 
" whooping " on the dogs, and running with 
all our might. We were so carried away by 
the excitement tliat not one of us even thought 
of the fact that she w^ould come stealing back. 

No negro can resist the inclination to shout 
" Dyah she go ! " and to run after a hare when 
one gets up ; it is involuntary and irresistible. 
Even Uncle Limpy-Jack came bobbing along 
for a while, shouting, " Dyah she go ! " at the 
top of his voice ; but being soon distanced he 
called his dog. Rock, and went back to beat 
the ditch bank again. 

The enthusiasm of the chase carried us all 
into the piece of pine beyond the fence, where 
the pines were much too thick to see anything 
and where only an occasional glimpse of a dog 
running backward and forward, or an instinc- 
tive " oun-oun ! " from the hounds, rewarded us. 
But " molly is berry sly," and while the dogs 
were chasing each other around through the 
pines, she was tripping back down through the 
field to the place where we had started her. 



We were recalled by hearing an unexpected 
" bang " from the field behind us, and dashing 
out of the woods we found Uncle Limpy-Jack 
holding up a hare, and with a face whose grav- 
ity might have done for that of Fate. He was 
instantly surrounded by the entire throng, whom 
he regarded with superb disdain and spoke of 
as " you chillern." 

" G' on, you chillern, whar you is gwine, and 
meek you noise somewhar else, an' keep out o' 
ni)^ way. I want to git some hyahs ! " 

He betrayed his pleasure only once, when, as 

he measured out the shot from an old rag into 

his seamed palm, he said with a nod of his 

head : " Y' all kin rim ole hyahs ; de ole man 

sJioots 'em." And as we started off we heard 

him muttering : 

" Ole Molly Hyah, 
What yo' doin' dyah ? 
Settin' in de cornder 
Smokin' a cigali." 

We went back to the branch and began again 
to beat the bushes. Uncle Limpy-Jack taking 
unquestioned the foremost place which had 
heretofore been held by us. 

Suddenly there w-as a movement, a sort of 
scamper, a rush, as something slipped from out 
of the heavy grass at our feet and vanished in 
the thick briers of the ditch bank. " Dyah she 
go ! " arose from a dozen throats, and gone she 
was, in fact, safe in a thicket of briers which no 
dog nor negro could penetrate. 

The bushes were vigorously beaten, however, 
and all of us, except Uncle Limpy-Jack and 
Milker-Tim, crossed over to the far side of the 
ditch Avhere the bottom widened, when sud- 
denly she was discovered over on the same 
side, on the edge of the little valley. She had 
stolen out, the negroes declared, licking her 
paws to prevent leaving a scent, and finding 
the stretch of hillside too bare to get across, 
was stealing back to her covert again, going a 
little way and then scjuatting, then going a few 
steps and squatting again. " Dyah she go ! " 
" Dyah she go ! " resounded as usual. 

Bang ! — bang ! — snap I — bang ! went the four 
guns in quick succession, tearing up the grass 
anywhere from one to ten yards away from her. 
As if she had drawn their fire and was satisfied 
that she was safe, she turned and sped up the 



iSgi.l 



THE l.ONO IIILLSIDK. 



109 



liill, llic white tail bol)bing derisively, followed 
)))• die dugs strung out in line. 

Of course all of us hail some good excuse for 
missing, Uncle Limpy-Jack's being the only 
valid one — that his cap had snapped. He made 
much of this, complaining violently of '■ ilese 
\ere wuthless caps!" With a pin he set to 
work, and he had just picked the tube, rammed 
painfully some grains of powder down in it, and 
put on another cap which he had first e.xam- 



her, and she turned at right angles out of the fur- 
row ; but as she got to the top of the bed, Milker- 
Tim, tlinging back his arm with the precision of 
a bushman, sent his stick whirling like a boom- 
erang skimming along the ground after her. 

Tim with a yell rushed at her and picked her 
up, shouting, "I got her! I got her! " 

Then Uncle Limpy-Jack pitched into him: 
'• What you doin' gittin' in my way ? " he 
complained angrily. '• Ain' you got no better 



;^ ^"hjM- 




'WE FOUND UNCLE I.IMPY-JACK HOLDING IP A HARE 



ined with great care to imi)ress us. "■ Now, let sense 'n to git in m\- \\a\- like dat ? Did n' you 

a ole hyah get u]>," he said, with a shake of his see how nigh I come to blowin' yo' brains out? 

head. "She got mir// ready fi)r her, she ain' Did n' vou see I had de hyah when you come 

got you chillern." The words were sranelv ]>okin' ver woollv black head in my way ? Kf 

spoken when a little darky called out, '■ Dyah I had n' Hung my gun otV. whar 'd yini 'a' been 

she come!" and sure enough she came, "lip- now? Don' vou come pokin' in my way ag'in ! " 

ping" down a furrow straight toward us. Vn- Tim was too much elated to be long afi'ected 

( le I .inipy- Ia< k was on that side of the ditch and by e\ en this severity, and when he had got out 

Milker- Tim was near him armed only with a of Unile Jack's way he sang out : 

stout well-balanced stick about two feet l(Mig. 

..11 , .1 1 11 I- 1 I 1 "Olc Molly Hv.ili, 

As the hare came down the hill, I ncle lack .. , ^ 'i, .i- 

^ ou cars mij;ntv tliin, 

brought up his gun, took a long aim and fired. Y'cs ves yes 

The weeds and dust flew up off to one side of I cnmc a-t'ippin' thoo .Ic win' ! " 



I lO 



THE LONG HILLSIDE. 



[Dec. 



So far the honors were all Uncle Jack's and 
Milker-Tim's, and it was necessary to do some- 
thing. Accordingly, the bottom having been 
well hunted, the crowd struck for an old field 
over the hill, known as " the long hillside." It 
was thick in hen-grass and broom-straw, and 
sloped down from a piece of pine with a south- 
ern exposure on which the sun shone warm. 
We had not reached it before a hare jumped 
out of a bush near Charlie. In a few moments, 
another bounced out before one of the dogs and 
went dashing across the field. Two shots fol- 
lowed her; but she kept on till at last one of 
the boys secured her. 

We were going down the slope when Peter 
called in great excitement : 

" Heah a ole hyah settin' in her baid. Come 
heah, Dan, quick ! Gi' me your gun ; le' me git 
him ! " 

This was more than Dan bargained for, as he 
had not got one himself yet. He ran up quick 
enough, but held on tightly to his gun. 

" Where is he ? Show him to me ; I ' knock 
him over." 

As he would not give up the gun, Peter 
pointed out the game. 

" See him ? " 

" No." 

" Right under dat bush — right dyah " (point- 
ing). " See him ? Teck keer dyah, Don, teck 
keer," he called, as Don came to a point just 
beyond. " See him ? " He pointed a black 
finger with tremulous eagerness. 

No, he did not, so Dan reluctantly yielded 
up the gun. 

Peter took aim long and laboriously, shut 
both eyes, pulled the trigger, and blazed away. 

There was a dash of white and brown, a yell, 
and Don wheeled around with his head be- 
tween his fore paws and stung by the shot as 
" molly" fled, streaking it over the hill followed 
only by the dogs. 

Peter's face was a study. If he had killed 
one of us he could not have looked more like a 
criminal, nor have heard more abuse. 

Uncle Limpy-Jack poured out on him such 
a volume of vituperation and contempt that he 
was almost white, he was so ashy. Don was 
not permanently hurt ; but one ear was pierced 
by several shot, which was a serious affair, as 



his beauty was one of his good points, and his 
presence on a hare-hunt was wholly against the 
rules. Uncle Limpy-Jack painted the terrors 
of the return home for Peter with a vividness so 
realistic that its painfulness pierced more breasts 
than Peter's. 

Don was carried to the nearest ditch, and the 
entire crowd devoted itself to doctoring his ear. 
It was decided that he should be taken to the 
quarters and kept out of sight during the Christ- 
mas, in the hope that his ear would heal. 
We all agreed not to say anything about it if 
not questioned. Uncle Limpy-Jack had to be 
bribed into silence by a liberal present of shot 
and powder from us. But he finally consented. 
However, when Met, in a wild endeavor to get 
a shot at a stray partridge which got up before 
us, missed the bird and let Uncle Limpy-Jack, 
at fifty yards, have a few number-six shot in the 
neck and shoulder, Peter's delinquency was for- 
gotten. The old man dropped his gun and 
yelled, " Oh ! Oh ! ! " at the top of his voice. 
" Oh ! I 'm dead, I 'm dead, I 'm dead." He 
lay down on the ground and rolled. 

Met was scared to death, and we were all 
seriously frightened. Limpy-Jack himself may 
have thought he was really killed. He certainly 
made us think so. He would not let any one 
look at the wound. 

Only a few of the shot had gone in, and he 
was not seriously injured ; but he vowed that it 
was all done on purpose, and that he was " go- 
ing straight home and tell Marster," a threat 
he was only prevented from executing by all 
of us promising him the gold dollars which 
we should find in the toes of our stockings next 
morning. 

So far the day had been rather a failure ; the 
misfortunes had exceeded the sport ; but as we 
reached the long hillside I have spoken of, the 
fun began. The hares were sunning them- 
selves comfortably in their beds, and we had 
not gone more than two hundred yards before 
we had three up, and cutting straight down the 
hill before us. 

Bang ! — bang ! — bang ! — bang ! went the 
guns. One hare was knocked over, and one 
boy also by the kick of his gun ; the others were 
a sight chase, and every boy, man, and dog 
joined in it for dear fife. 



THE I.ONC, lilLI.SIUE. 



I I I 



a Whoop '- whoop !-Dyah she go :-I)yah We were crossing the pasture on our way 
she CO' Heah heah! Heah, heah! Heah, home ; the winter sunset sky was glowing hke 
heah heah! Whoop, Rattler! Whoop, Nimrod! burnished steel ; the tops of the great clump of 



Heah, Snip ! heah, heah, Bruno ! Heah, heah ! " 
Every one was striving to get ahead. 

Both hares were picked up before reaching 
roNcr, one being caught by Bruno, who was 
ma-nifu cnt in a chase. After many falls and 






\:.*/ 






?-^*'j!:\;'5fe* 















^ii 



MMM:^-^. 



/' 









A SLIGHT ACCIDENT TO UNCI.E I.IMPV-JACK. 

(iiilures by all of us, Saul flung himself on the oun, oun ! 
other and gave a wild yell of lnum])h. 

'I'he "long hillside" was full of hares; they 
bounced out of the hen-grass; slipped from 
brush-heai)S and were run down, or b\ ihiir 
speed ;ind ;i-ilily escaped us all. The dogs got 
the lieii/y ;ind t hasrd \\ildl\-, sometimes run- 
ning over ihem and losinu them throui;h a 



oaks and hickories in which the house stood 
were all that we could see over the far hill ; a 
thin line of bluish smoke went straight up in 
the cjuiet air. The dogs had gone on ahead, 
even the two or three old watch-dogs ran after 

the others, with their 
,tiji.u'iii; i,j]|j»,, i\l, noses in air. 

The question of 
concealing Don and 
his ragged ear came 
up. It was neces- 
sary to catch him 
and keep him from 
the house. We 
started up the slope 
after him. As we 
climbed the hill we 
heard them. 

" Dee got a ole 
hyah now ; come 
on," exclaimed one 
or two of the younger 
negroes ; but old 
Limpy-Jack came 
to a halt, and turn- 
ing his head to one 
side listened. 

" Heish : Dat ain' 
no ole hyah dey 're 
arter; dey 're arter 
Marster's sheep, — 
dat 's what 't is ! " 

He started oft" at 
a rapid gait, ^^■e 
did the same. 

'• Yep, yep! Oun, 
came their voices in 




mm 



!>.■- 



'"^f!: 







I'.rr, err. err 
full cry. 

We reached the top of the hill. Sure enough, 
there they were, the fat Southdowns, tearing like 
mad across the field, the sound of their trampling 
reaching us, with the entire pack at their heels, 
the pointers well in the leatl. Such a chase as 
we had trying to catch that pack of mischie- 



clevcr double and dash. The old field Vang vous dogs! Finally we got them in; but not 
with the chase until we turned our steps toward before the whole occurrence had been seen at 
home to get ready for ihe fun after dark. the house. 



1 I 2 



THK I.OXr, HILLSIDE. 



If Christmas had not been such an occa- Uncle Limpy-Jack basely deserted us after get- 

sion of peace and good will, we should have ting our gold dollars, declaring that he " told 

had a hard time. As it was, we had to plead dem boys dat huntin' olc hyahs war n' no busi- 

eloquently with Don's torn ear against us, and ness for chillern!" 






{ 



,/ 













»» 



,• 



ffo»r.f l,/fMr»^ f»t^^4»^. 



idl 



A » IIKI-. I M A -. H»r*Nt' K. 



TOM PAULDING. 

{A Tmie tf Trt<tsun TnK<e in tie Sf^.-S .■■' .NVa* JVr*.) 



By Braxper Matthfws 



>. 




t5i«*« oi rtr .v«vwArf .MiArf- 1 Paulding had bought a farm and built him a 

Chapter IV house, the fortunes of his children and grand- 
children had risen and fallen. He himself had 

P.XULINE .^ND THE CAREFUL KATIE. ^^^ ^ l>aymaster in Washington's army: and 

] H E house in after the Revolution he had prospered and en- 

which Tom larged his domain. But as he grew old he 

Paulding lived made an unfortunate use of his money, and 

with his mother when he died his estate was heavily involved, 

and sister had His son. \Vyll\-s Paulding ^Tom's grandfather) 

originally been had done what he could to set in orvier the 

a small form- family attains but he died while yet a young 

house. It had man and before he had succeeded in putting 

been built just their fortunes on a firm basis. \Vyll\^'s son. 

before the Rev- Stuyvesant ^Tom's father^ stnigglevl long aini 

olution and bv unavailingly. Like \Vyll\-s and like Nicholas, 

Tom's great- Stuyvesant Paulding was an only child : and 

grandtather. the orticer fn.^m whom the gold Tom Paulding so far carried out this tradition 

had been stolen. It was a s^^uare wooden house of the family that he was an only son and had 

with g;ible-ends and with a door in the middle : but one sister. 

there was a little jx>rch before the door with a Stuyvesiint Paulding had dievl suddenly, 

vine climbing by the white wcKxlen pillars. Ori- when Tom was about five years old. leaving 

ginally it had stood on a knoll, overlooking the his widow and his children nothing but the 

broad acres of the farm as thev sloj>eil down house in which they livevl and the insurance on 

to the river. When the streets were resiularlv his lite. Bit bv bit the farm had been sold to 

laid out through that part of the city, making meet pressing debts, until at last there was left 

the upjK^r portion of Manhati.in Island as like in the jx)ssession of Nicholas Paulding's grand- 

as possible to a flat gridia>n. a lower level w.is son but a ver> sm.il! i of the many acres 

chosen than that of the house. The stony hill NichoLis PauKling h..w > >. -.oil — only the house 

was cut thanigh. and the house now stooil high and the three city lots across which it stooil. 

on a blutV. rising sheer and j^iggeii above the .Vnd upon these lots and the house there was a 

sidewalk. .\ flight of wootlen stejvs leil from mortgage, the interest on which Pom's mother 

the street to the top of the knoll ; and thence often found it ver>- harvl to meet, 

a short w.ilk iviveil with well-worn flagstones Tom's mother w.is a cheen'ul little woman; 

strctohevl to the front door. Phe house hail and she was glad that she had a nx>f over her 

been so planteil on the hill that it might com- heail. and that she was able to bring up her 

mand the mtvst agreeable view ; but the streets children and give them an eilucation. ITie 

had Ikxmi vlriven jxist it rigidlv at right angles to roof over her head w.is stanch, and the old 

the avenues, and so the house was now "cater- house was as sound as when it w.is built. Mrs. 

comerevl " acrv^ss one end o( a block. Pauldin*; was ver\- fond of her home, and she 

In the centur\ and a quarter since Nicholas useil to tell Tom and Pauhnc •'■' rhey were 
Vou XIX.— S. «t3 



114 



TOM PAULDING. 



[Dec. 



perhaps the only boy and girl in all New York 
city with its million and a half of inhabitants, 
who had been born in a house built by their 
own great-grandfather. 

The household was small ; it consisted of 
Mrs. Paulding, Tom, his sister Pauline, and 
the Careful Katie. 

Cissy Smith had once told Tom that Mrs. 
Paulding was " the nicest old lady in the 
Avorld," — and Tom had indignantly denied that 
his mother was old. Perhaps she was not old, 
but assuredly she was no longer young. She 
was a trim little woman with a trim little figure. 
Her dark-brown hair was turning gray under 
the widow's cap that she had worn ever since 
Tom's father died. She was good-natured and 
even-tempered ; her children had never seen 
her angry, however they might try her ; to them 
she was always cheery and she seemed always 
hopeful. As far as she might have power, the 
path of life should always be smooth before her 
children's feet. 

Tom Paulding was the second member of 
the family ; and he often looked forward to the 
time when he should be a man, that he might 
do something for his mother and for his sister. 

Tom called his sister " Polly," but her name 
really was Pauline. She was nearly twelve 
years old, and she was rather short for her 
years ; she kept hoping to be taller when she 
was older. 

" How can I ever feel grown up, if I have n't 
grown any ? " she once asked her mother. 

She was rather pretty, and she had light- 
brown hair, which she wore down her back in 
a pigtail. To live in a house with a little spare 
ground about it was to her a constant delight. 
One of the two trees which Nicholas Paulding 
had planted before his door-step, an ample ma- 
ple, now spread its branches almost over the 
porch ; and to this tree Pauline had taken a 
great fancy when she was but a baby. She 
called it her tree ; and she used to go out and 
talk to it and tell it her secrets. Tom had made 
her a seat on one side of this tree ; and there 
she liked to sit with the cat and the kitten. She 
was very fond of cats, and she had generally 
a vagrant kitten or two, outcast and ragged, 
whom she was feeding and petting. With all 
animals she was friendly. The goats which 



browsed the rocks on which stood Mrs. Raf- 
erty's shanty, two blocks above on Pauline's 
way to school, knew her and walked contentedly 
by her side ; and the old horse which was always 
stationed before the shanty, attached to a de- 
crepit cart labeled " Rafferty's Express," knew 
Polly and would affably eat the apple she took 
frorh her luncheon for him. The name of this 
old horse was " Daniel." 

There was not an animal anywhere on the 
line of Pauline's daily walk to and from school 
that did not know her and love her. 

The fourth member of the liousehold, and 
in some respects the most important, was the 
Careful Katie. She was a robust, hearty Irish- 
woman who had been in Mrs. Paulding's ser- 
vice for years. She had come to the young 
couple when Tom's father and mother were 
first married, and she had remained with the 
family ever since. She had been Tom's nurse 
and then she had been Polly's nurse. Now, in 
their reduced circumstances, she was their only 
servant, strong enough to do anything and 
willing to do everything. She could cook ex- 
cellently; she was indefatigable in housework 
and in the laundry ; she was a good nurse in 
sickness ; and she had even attempted to raise 
a few vegetables, chiefly potatoes and beans, in 
the little plot of ground on one side of the 
house. She was never tired and she was never 
cross. She was a " Household Treasure," so 
said Mrs. Paulding, who also wondered fre- 
quently how she could ever get on without 
her. 

She had two defects only, and these in a 
measure neutralized each other. The first was 
that she thought she wished to go back to Ire- 
land ; and so she gave Mrs. Paulding warning 
and made ready to depart about once every six 
weeks. But she had never gone ; and Mrs. 
Paulding was beginning to believe that she 
never would go. The second of her failings 
was that she was conscious of her long service, 
of her affection for Mrs. Paulding and for the 
two children, and of her fidelity ; and so slie 
had come to accept herself as one of the family 
and to believe that she was therefore author- 
ized to rule the household with a rod of iron. 
Slie was so fond of them all that she insisted on 
their doing what she thought best for them, and 



iSgi. 



TOM PAULDING. 



115 



not what they themselves might prefer. There On the morning after election-day he niorri- 

Tere dmes when the Careful Katie earned ing after the Black Band had made lom Paul- 

;;. wTth so high a hand that Mrs. Paukhng ding run the gantlet and had tied h.m to the 

caugrherself hSf wishing that the attraction stake, and had danced a scalp-dance about him 



^i^^l^^:^^^^^'' 






^■^^ 



■PM'^:-S.-<'^^ 



ff ii 










J* ■ - . •.-■ » ■ ■ I 




■J 

of Ireland mi,M ,, rove potent enou,l,.ocnuc. wh.le l,c l.ravdy '^^^^^ "^Jf^^ '^T^ 

the child of Krin back to her native isle. song, the nn.tator ol Hard-Heart and I 

ll remains 10 be recorded, moreover, that the was late for breaklast 
Carl ul Katie was very superstittous. She ae- Mrs. l>auld„,g and I'auhne were at table, and 

ceme ever thing .as a si«n or a warning. She the Careful Katie had pbced thecoflee-po 

: ', :::er looU over h'er left shoulder at the before his mother and the P'»<-f ot tasc • 

new ntoon. She was prompt t., throw salt over before hts stster; and loms chatr , as read) 

her right shoulder, if by chance any were spilt bin,, bu, he had not yet appeared^ 
„.hile she was waiting at table. She declare.1 •■ U 's late Master lom - --'^•^ J^^^ 

tha, a ring at the bell at mi.lnight. three nights Ir.sh „,ember of the fa""')'- « ' " ' ''^^ '" „. 
running, foreboded a death i.. .he family. The Care.ul Kat.e was fond of heanng 



ii6 



TOM PAULDING. 



[Dec. 



self talk, and she was always ready to take part 
in the conversation at the dinner-table ; but her 
use of the English language left something to 
be desired. 

" Tom will be down in a minute," said Paul- 
ine ; " I knocked on his door as I passed, and 
waked him up, and I kept on knocking till I 
heard him get out of bed, and then he threw a 
pillow at me down the stairs." 

" An' who 's to be washin' that same pillow- 
case, I 'd like to know ? It is n't yous that '11 
do it — it 'U be me, I 'm thinkin'," said the 
Irishwoman. 

" Katie," interposed Pauline, pausing in her 
breakfast, " if you were a good girl, a real good 
girl, you would bring ' Pussy ' up and ' Bobby,' 
and let me give them their breakfast." 

" An' where will I find Pussy ? Bobby is 
quiet in the kitchen with his feet to the fire like 
a gentleman; but Pussy does be out all night," 
replied Katie, adding, " Ah, but there 's the cat 
now, sittin' outside the window here as easy as 
you please." 

" Then I '11 let her have her breakfast right 
away, if you will please excuse me. Mama," 
cried Pauline, rising from die table and pouring 
out a saucerful of milk. 

She opened the window and called the cat, 
who came to the sill and stood expectant. 
When Pauline was about to set the saucer out- 
side for Pussy to drink, the Careful Katie saw 
what she was doing and rushed across the 
room. 

" Miss Polly," she screamed, " never be doin' 
that ! It 's main bad luck to pass vittles out o' 
the window to a Christian, let alone to a cat." 

Mrs. Paulding looked up and smiled, and 
then quietly went on eating her breakfast. 

" Pauline," she said, presently, " your own 
breakfast will be cold." 

" But just see how hungry Pussy is," the little 
girl said as she came back to table. 

" I 've a sup of hot milk in the kitchen," 
remarked Katie, " an' I '11 get it for her. I 've 
heard it ': lucky to feed a cat, an' when I go 
back to the old country, — an' I 'm goin' soon 
now, — I hope a black cat will walk in for a 
visit, the very first day I 'm home again." And 
with this, she took Pussy in through the window 
and went out into the kitchen. 



" Sometimes I wonder how I should get along 
without Katie," said Mrs. Paulding, " and then, 
when she frightens you as she did just now, and 
overrides us all, I almost wish she ivould go 
back to Ireland." 

" We should never get another like her," 
Pauhne declared, " and she is so good to the 
pussies." 

" I believe you think of them first," her 
mother said, smihng. 

" The poor things can't speak for themselves. 
Mama," the litde girl responded; "somebody 
must think for them." 

The clock on the mantel struck eight. 

" Tom will be late," said Mrs. Paulding. 

'• No, he won't," cried her son, as he hastily 
entered the room. He kissed his mother, and 
then he took his seat at the table. 



Chapter V. 

AT THE BREAK- 
FAST-TABLE. 

RS, Paulding 
watched Tom 
eat about half 
of his bowl of 
oatmeal. Then 
she asked 
gently, " How 
is it you were late, my son ? " 

" I overslept myself," Tom answered, " and 
when Polly knocked at the door I was having 
a wonderful dream. 

" It was about everything all mixed up, just 
as it is generally in dreams," went on Tom, 
" but it began with my floating around the 
room. I often dream I can float about in 
the air just as naturally as walking on the floor; 
and, in my dream, when I float around, nobody 
seems at all surprised, any more than if it was 
the most ordinary thing to do. 

" I dreamed that 1 floated out to Mount 
Vesuvius, where there was an eruption going on 
and the flames were pouring out of the crater. 
There I heard cries of distress, and I found 
seven great genies had tied a fiiiry to a white 
marble altar, and they were dancing about 
her, and making ready to stone her with sticky 




I89I.] 



TOM PAULDING. 



117 



lumps of red-hot lava. So I floated over to her 
and asked her what I could do for her — " 

" Did n't the seven evil spirits see you ? " 
interrupted Polly. 

" They did n't in the dream," Tom an- 



having a purse that is always full of money. 
I should ask for them all — and if she was a 
real generous fairy, she 'd count that as only 
one wish." 

When his sister had finished this long speech. 



swered, " though now I don't understand why Tom was calmly eating the last of his oatmeal. 



they did n't." 

" Perhaps the fairy had made you invisible," 
explained his sister. 

" That may have been the way," Tom ad- 
mitted. " So I floated over to the altar and I 
asked what I could do for her, and she whis- 
pered to stoop down and try if I could see 
three flat stones in the ground — " 

" Did you see them ? " interrupted Polly 
again. 

" I did," said Tom ; " and if you 'U just let 



She looked at him, and cried : 

" Tom, you are just too aggravoking for any- 
thing. What were your three wishes ? " 

" I don't know," answered Tom. 

" Why not ? " asked Pauline. 

" Because," Tom responded, leisurely, " you 
interrupted me in my dream exactly as you did 
just now. That was as far as I 'd got when 
you waked me up." 

" Oh, oh ! " said Pofly. " If I 'd known you 
were going to have three wishes, I would n't 



me go on, you '11 get to the end of this story have called you for anything in the world. 



a sight sooner." 

" I won't say another word," Pauline said. 

" The three flat stones were just under my 
feet," said Tom. " The fairy told me to lift 
the center stone and she said that I should 
find under it a large copper ring — " 

"And did y " began Polly. "Oh!" and 

she suddenly stopped. 

" She told me to pull on the ring anil I 
would find an iron box," Tom went on, " and 
in that box was a beautiful silver-mounted, 
seven-shot revolver loaded with seven magic 
bullets with which I was to kill the seven 
genies. So I took the revolver and I shot the 
seven genies, one after the other ; and then 1 
released the fairy." 

"What did she give you?" asked Polly 
eagerly. 



What were you going to wish for?" she went 
on. " Don't you remember now ? " 

" I don't know what I should have wished 
for in the dream," Tom answered ; " but I know 
what I should wish for now, if a real, live, sure- 
enough fairy gave me one wish. I 'd wish that 
mother's income were just twice as big as it is, 
so that she should n't have to worr)' about the 
mortgage and our clothes and my education." 

Mrs. Paulding held out her hand, and Tom 
gave it a squeeze. 

" You would be glad to have that Purse of 

Fortunatus that Pauline despised so," she said. 

"And so should I. The mortgage does bother 

me, now and then, — and there are other things, 

too. I wish I had enough to let you stuily 

engineering, since your mind is made up that 

you would like that best." 

"If yuu don't say a wortl," Tom continued, " My mintl is made up that 1 VI like best 

"I will inform you that she gave me three to be an engineer, if I could," Tom responded; 

wishes." '• but I sha'n't complain a bit if I have to go 

" What did you wish for ? " Polly asked at into a store next vear." 



once. " I know what I shoukl like. I 'd ask 
for a little bag containing all the things they 
have in fairy stories — a cap that makes vou 
invisible, and shoes that make you go fast, and 
a carpet to carry you through the air, and all 
the things of that sort. \«)U see it is alwavs 
so awkward to have the wrong things; for in- 
stance, when there 's a great, big, green dragon 
coining to eat you uj) and you want to be invisi- 



" I hope that I shall at least be able to keep 
you at school." said his mother. 

"1 'd like to stuily for a jirofession, mother, 
as you know," he went on ; " but I 'm not 
wiUing to have you worry about it." 

" I think I M like to study for a profession, 
too," interrui)ted Pauline. '■ I M like to learn 
doctory. A\'e begin jihysiology next term, and 
thev have a real skeleton for that — ucrh ! it will 



ble all at once and in a hurry, it is n't any use be great fun." 



ii8 



TOM PAULDING. 



[Dec. 



" You need not shiver in anticipation," said 
her mother with a laugh. 

" Tom," Polly asked seriously, " did you ever 
have convulsions ? You know I did — and when 
I was only two years old, too. So when we 
girls get a-talking over the things we 've all 
had, measles and mumps, and they find out I 
have n't had whooping-cough, — why, then I 
just tell them I 've had convulsions ; and they 
have n't, not one of them." 

" Mother," said Tom, who had been think- 
ing quietly, while his sister rattled on, " you 
told me once about some money that my great- 
grandfather lost. Did n't anybody ever try to 
find it ? " 

" Yes," Mrs. Paulding answered. " Your 
grandfather made a great search for it, so 
your father told me; and at one time he 
thought he was very ' warm,' as children say, 
but he suddenly seemed to lose all interest in 
it, and gave over the hunt all at once." 

" Why ? " asked Tom eagerly. 

" I don't know why," answered Mrs. Paul- 
ding; ''nor did your father know, either." 

" How did my great-grandfather lose the 
money ? " Tom continued. 

" It was stolen from him," replied his mother. 
" He was a paymaster in Washington's army ; 
and when the British captured New York, the 
American army retreated up the island and held 
the upper part. A large sum of money had 
been paid to your great-grandfather — or rather 
he had raised it on his own property, for I 
believe that the stolen gold was his own and 
not the government's." 

" And when was it stolen ? " asked Tom. 

" I think I heard your father say that it was 
taken from his grandfather during the night — 
during the night before the batde of Harlem 
Plains." 

"That was in 1776," said Tom, "in Septem- 
ber. Our teacher told us all about it only two 
or three weeks ago. And it was fought just 
around the corner from here, between Morn- 
ingside Park and Central Park. Was Nicholas 
Paulding robbed during the fight ? " 

" Really, my son," responded Mrs. Paulding, 
" I know very little about it. Your father rarely 
spoke of it; it seemed to be a sore subject with 
him. But I think the robbery took place late 



that evening, after the battle was over, — or it 
may have been the night before." 

" Who was the robber ? " asked Tom. " They 
know who he was, don't they ? " 

" Yes," said his mother, " I think it is known 
who took the money. He was a deserter from 
our army. His name was Kerr, or Carr. He 
disappeared and the money was missing at the 
same time." 

" Did n't you say once that the thief was 
never heard of after the stealing ? " said Tom. 

" That is what I have always understood," 
his mother declared. " The man left our army 
and was never seen again. After the war, your 
grandfather made a careful search for him, but 
he could find no trace." 

" Did n't the British receive him when he ran 
away ? I thought the armies in that war were 
always glad to receive deserters from the other 
side." 

" I think he never reached the British at all." 

" Then what did become of him ? " asked Tom. 

" That is the mystery," replied his mother. 
" It was a mystery to your great-grandfather at 
the time and when the war was over; and it 
seems to have puzzled and interested your 
grandfather, too, at least for a while." 

" It interests me," Tom declared. " I like 
puzzles. I wish I knew more about this one/' 

" There are a lot of papers of your grand- 
father's, maps and letters and scraps of old 
newspapers, somewhere in an old box where 
your grandfather put them more than fifty years 
ago," said Mrs. Paulding. 

" And where is that box now ? " was Tom's 
eager question. 

" I think that it is in one of the old trunks in 
the attic," Mrs. Paulding replied. 

Before Tom could say anything more, a shrill 
whistle was heard. 

" There 's the postman! " cried Pauline, jump- 
ing up from the breakfast-table. " I hojjc he 
has brought a letter for me ! " 

The Careful Katie entered and gave Mrs. 
Paulding a letter, saying, " It 's a new letter- 
man, this one, and he says he ought to have 
left this letter yesterday. More fool he, say I." 

With that, she took the coftee-])ot from the 
table and went out of the room again. 

Mrs. Paulding looked at the handwriting for 



.891.] 



TOM PAULDING. 



119 



a moment and said, " It is from Mr. Duncan." back on the chair, and with difficulty kept back 

Then she opened it and looked at the signa- her tears. 

tare and exclaimed, "Yes, it is from Mr. Dun- Pauline, who had been a silent spectator, 

can. I wonder what he has to say." walked over and put her arms about her 

'I'um knew that Mr. Duncan was a lawyer, mother. "How soon shall we have to go?" 

and an old friend of the family, and that he had she a.sked. 

always advised Mrs. Paulding in business affairs. " I hope we shall not have to go at all," Mrs. 

As his mother read, Tom watched her face. Paulding answered. " Mr. Duncan says that 

we have sev- 
eral months be- 
fore us to see 
what we can 
do. Perhaps 
the mortgagee 
won't want his 
money before 
that time." 

"Or perhaps 
Uncle Dick will 
come back with 
lots and lots of 
money," sug- 
gested Pauline. 
•• Mother," 
said Tom sud- 
dcnlv, while he 
strapped up his 
school-books, 
'• would you let 
me look at that 
box of papeTs 
— about that 
stolen gold?" 
" Certainly, 
my son, if you 
would like to 
see them," she 
answered. 
•■How nun h money was it that my gre;U- 
granilfather lost ? " he asked. 




" ■ I 'M (JOINU to see II' WE can't c;ET hack some of that stolen MONEV,' SAIU TOM 



'* 1 don't know exactly. I think 1 once told 
you as much as the thief ctnild carry comfort- 



When she had t'lni^^h^•(l the letler, she let it fall 
in her lap. 

" Will. MotliiT," lie asked. " have you received 
bad news ? " 

•• \'es," she answered, "liad news indeed. .Mr. ablv — about two thousand pounds, perhaps." 
Duncan writes that the gentleman who holds the " W hew ! That 's ten thousand dollars ! " ex- 
mortgage on the house wishes us to pav it off claimed Tom, as he bade her good-by before 
soon, and Mr. Duncan is afraid that we shall going to school. " I )on't worry about that mort- 
not be able to get as much from anybody else." gage. / '/// going to see if we can't get back 

" Well, suppose we don't ?" Tom inipiired. some of that stolen money. Nobody knows 

" Tlien we shall have to sell this house and where it is, and I may be lucky enough to find 

move away," said Mrs. Paulding; and she sank out. At any rate, I mean to try." 

( 7>» he contintieii. ) 



A //A\^] 









was Kalf a cIovnth / /Y 'V 
tells of it .') 

Clermont town / ^/ 




ermonl chupcr 



tke Lells of it 

Is that rind 
round of it 



1/ 



// 



rie Keard tne Verier s dauoKter sino/^^^"^^ 
^ And loved her for tne 30und of it 




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\'m ¥//;>- ^=--' 






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.r 



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, I- 


7^ 




1 / r,^., 4 



iXi V' 



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Ke Vergers daughter said Kim nay 
(SKe had the n'gM of choice in it) 
He left tl^e place at break of day- 
He liad nt had a voice in it . 



i.'fi 






i-k 



1 ]\e roTid -\vcnt xip , the road went x\o\-7r\ 
_^ ^ ^nd there tKe matter ended it 

^' \A. % He broke his heart in Clermont to\\^n _ 

At Rnt^iband they mended it . 




// 



/. 



7 



^^"^ 







STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.* 



By Charles F. Lummis. 




E live in the most 
wonderful land in 
the world ; and one 
of the most wonder- 
ful things in it is that 
we Americans find 
so little to wonder 
at. Other civilized 
nations take pride 
in knowing their 
points of natural 
or historic interest ; 
but when we have 
pointed to our marvelous growth in popula- 
tion and wealth, we find little else to say, and 
hasten abroad in quest of sights not a tenth part 
so wonderful as a thousand wonders we have at 
home and never dream of. It is true that other 
nations are older, and have grown up to think of 
something besides material matters; but our youth 
and our achievements are poor excuses for this 
unpatriotic slighting of our own country. There 
is a part of America — a part even of the United 
States — of which Americans know as little as 
they do of central Africa, and of which too many 
of them are much less interested to learn. With 
them, " to travel " means only to go abroad ; 
and they call a man a traveler who has run his 
superficial girdle around the world and is as 
ignorant of his own country (except its cities) 
as if he had never been in it. I hope to live to 
see Americans proud of knowing:; America, and 
ashamed not to know it ; and it is to my young 
countrymen that I look for the patriotism to 
effect so needed a change. 

If we would cease to depend so much upon 
other countries for our models of life and 
thought, we would have taken the first stej) 
toward the Americanism wln'ch sliould be, l)ut 
is not, ours. We read a vast amount of the 
wonders of foreign lands ; but very few writ- 
ers — and still fewer reliable ones — tell us of 
the marvelous secrets of our own. P^very intel- 

* Copyright, 189 1, by 



ligent youth knows that there are boomerang- 
throwers in Australia ; but how many are aware 
that there are thousands of natives in the United 
States just as expert with the magic club as are 
the bush-men ? All have read of the feats of 
the jugglers of India ; but how many know that 
there are as good Indian jugglers within our 
own boundaries ? How many young Americans 
could say, when some traveler recounted the 
exploits of the famous snake-charmers of the 
Orient, " Why, yes ; we have tribes of Indians 
in this country whose trained charmers handle 
the deadliest snakes with impunity," and go on 
to tell the facts in the case ? How many know 
that there are Indians here who dwell in huge 
six-story tenements of their own building ? How 
many know that the last witch in the United 
States did not go up in cruel smoke above old 
Salem, but that there is still within our borders 
a vast domain wherein witchcraft is fully be- 
lieved in ? 

These are but a few of the strange things 
at home of which we know not. There are 
thousands of others; and if it shall ever be- 
come as fashionable to Avrite about America as 
to write about Africa, we shall have a chance 
to learn that in the heart of the most civilised 
nation on earth there still are savage races 
whose customs are stranger and more interest- 
ing than those of the Congo. 

As to our scenery, we are rather better in- 
formed; and yet every year many thousands of 
un-American Americans go to Europe to see 
scenery infinitely inferior to our own, upon 
which they have never looked. We say there 
are no ruins in this country, and cross the 
ocean to admire crumbling piles less majestic 
and less interesting than remain in America. We 
read of famous gorges and defiles abroad, and 
are eager to see them ; unknowing that in a des- 
olate corner of the United States is the greatest ^ 
natural wonder of the world — a caiion in which 
all the rest of the world's famous gorges could 
Charles F. Lummis. 




"3 



I 24 

be lost forever. And not one American in ten 
thousand has ever looked upon its grandeur. 

Of course, we know the Sahara, for that is 
not American; but you will seek far to find 
any one who is familiar with an American 
desert as absolute and as fearful. We are 
aware of our giant redwoods in California, — 



STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY, 



whose houses are three-story caves, hewn from 
the solid rock ? 

It seems to me that when these and a thou- 
sand other wonders are a part of America, we, 
who are Americans, should be ashamed to know 
absolutely nothing of them. If such things ex- 
isted in England or Germany or France, there 











HEAD OF THE GRAND CAfJON OF THE COLORADO. 



the hugest trees in the world, — but did you 
ever hear of a petrified forest covering thou- 
sands of acres ? There is one such in the 
United States, and many smaller petrified for- 
ests. Do you know that in one territory alone 
we have the ruins of over fifteen hundred stone 
cities as old as Columbus, and many of them 
far older ? Have you ever heard of towns here 



would be countless books and guides overflow- 
ing with information about them, and we would 
hasten on excursions to them, or learn all that 
reading would tell us. 

There is no proverb less true than the one 
which says, " It is never too late to learn." 
As we grow old we learn many things, indeed, 
and fancy ourselves exceedingly wise ; but that 




\\HmS lilt OKAMJ l-A.N^ 



laS 



126 



STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY. 



[Dec. 



young countrymen than a thousand of the un- 
convertible older ones; and if I could induce 
him to resolve that, whatever else he learned, 
he would learn all he could of his own coun- 
try, I should be very happy. Let me tell you 
briefly, then, of a {qw of the strange comers 
of our country which I have found. I hope 
you will some day be interested to see them for 
yourselves. 

I have spoken of the 

GRAND CANON OF THE COLORADO 

as a gorge in which all other famous gorges could 
be lost. Some of you have ridden through the 
" Grand Caiion of the Arkansas," on the Den- 
ver and Rio Grande Railway in Colorado, and 
many more have seen the White Mountain 
Notch and the Franconia Notch, in New Hamp- 
shire. All three are very beautiful and noble; 
but if any one of them were duplicated in the 
wall of the Grand Canon of the Colorado, and 
you were looking from the opposite brink of 
that stupendous chasm, you would have to have 
your attention called to " those scratches " on the 
other side before you would notice them at all. 
If you were to take the tallest mountain east of 
the Rockies, dig down around its base two or 
three thousand feet, so as to get to the sea-level 
(from which its height is measured), uproot the 
whole giant mass, and pitch it into the deepest 
part of the Grand Canon of the Colorado, its 
granite top would not reach up to the dizzy 
crests of the cliffs which hem the awful bed of 
that great river. If you were on the stream, 
and New York's noble statue of Liberty En- 
lightening the World were upon the cliff, it 
would look to you like the tiniest of dolls ; 
and if it were across the canon from you, you 
would need a strong glass to see it at all ! 

The Grand Canon lies mainly in Arizona, 
though it touches also Utah, Nevada, and Cali- 
fornia. With its windings it is nearly seven 
hundred miles long ; and in many places it is 
over a mile and a (juarter deep. The width 
of this unparalleled chasm at the top is from 
eight to twenty miles; and looked down upon 
from above, a river larger than the Hud- 
wisdom is only the skin of life, so to say, and son, and five times as long, looks like a silver 
what we learn in youth is the real bone and thread. The Yosemite and the Yellowstone, 
blood. I would rather interest one of my wonderful as they are in their precipices, — and 




CLIMBING IN THE I.KAN 1) I ANON. 



iSgi.] 



STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY 



127 




a:.'jtiiuk \iiiw UK run lkanu <.a.svj.\. 



the world outside of America cannot matcli 
those wondrous valleys, — are babies beside this 
peerless gorge. As Charles Dudley Warner 
has said : " There is nothing else on earth to 
approach it." 

The walls of the (irand C'anon are in most 
places not perjjentlicular ; but seen from in front 
they all appear to be. They are mostly of sand- 
stone, but in places of marble, and again of 
volcanic rock ; generally " terraced " in a man- 
ner entirely peculiar to the southwest, and cleft 



into innumerable '• buttes," which seem towers 
and castles, but are infinitely vaster and more 
noble than the hand of man could ever rear. 
Anil when the inetJable sunshine of that arid 
but enchanted land falls upon their wondrous 
domes and battlements with a glow which seems 
not of this world, the sight is such a revelation 
that I have seen strong men affected by it to 
tears of speechless awe. 

There are no great falls in the Grand Canon ; 
but many beautiful and lofty ones in the unnum- 



128 



STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY. 



[Dec. 



bered hundreds of side canons which enter the 
greater canon. I had almost said " httle canons," 
for so they seem in the presence of their giant 
mother ; but in reahty, almost any one of them 
would shame any canon elsewhere. 

Very few Americans see the Grand Canon — 
shamefully few. Most of it lies in an abso- 
lute desert, where are neither people, food, nor 
obtainable water — for the river has carved this 
indescribable abyss of a trough through a vast 
upland, from which in many places a descent 
to the stream is impossible. And yet the caiion 
is easily reached at some points. The Atlantic 
and Pacific Railroad comes (at Peach Springs, 
Arizona) within twenty-three miles of it, and 
one can take a stage to the canon. The stage- 
road winds down to the bottom of the Grand 
Canon by way of the Diamond Creek Caiion, 
which is itself a more wonderful chasm than 
you will find anywhere outside the vast uplands 
of the Rocky Mountain system. A still nobler 
part of the Grand Caiion is reached by a wagon- 
ride of seventy miles through the superb natu- 
ral parks back of Flagstaff, on the same railroad. 
Neither of these trips is an uncomfortable one, 
and either rewards the traveler as will no other 
journey in the world. But any other explora- 
tion of the caiion is to be undertaken only by 
hardened frontiersmen. 

From the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad it is 
still easier to reach one of the greatest of natural 
curiosities — 

THE PETRIFIED FOREST 

of Arizona. Much the nearest point is the little 
station of Billings, but there are the scantiest 
accommodations for the traveler. Only a mile 
south of the track, at that point, one may see 
a low, dark ridge, marked by a single cotton- 
wood-tree. Walking thither (over a valley so 
alive with jack-rabbits that there is some excuse 
for the cow-boy declaration that " you can walk 
clear across on their backs"! ) one soon reaches 
the northern edge of the forest, which covers 
hundreds of square miles. Unless you are more 
hardened to wonderful sights than I am, you 
will almost fancy yourself in some enchanted 
spot. You seem to stand on the glass of a 
gigantic kaleidoscope, over whose sparkling 
surface the sun breaks in infinite rainbows. 



You are ankle- deep in such chips as I '11 war- 
rant you never saw from any other woodpile. 
What do you think of chips from trees that 
are red moss-agate, and amethyst, and smoky 
topaz, and agate of every hue ? Such are the 
marvelous splinters that cover the ground for 
miles here, around the huge prostrate trunks — 
some of them five feet through — from which 
Time's patient ax has hewn them. I broke a 
specimen from the heart of a tree there, years 
ago, which had around the stone pith a remark- 
able array of large and exquisite crystals ; for on 
one side of the specimen — which is not so large 
as my hand — is a beautiful mass of crystals of 
royal purple amethyst, and on the other, an 
equally beautiful array of smoky topaz crystals. 
One can get also magnificent cross- sections of a 
whole trunk, so thin as to be portable, and 
showing every vein and " year-ring," and even 
the bark. There is not a chip in all those miles 
which is not worthy a place, just as it is, in the 
proudest cabinet ; and, when polished, I know 
no other rock so splendid. It is one of the 
hardest stones in the world, and takes and 
keeps an imcomparable polish. 

In the curious sandstone hills a mile north- 
east of Billings is an outlying part of the forest, 
less beautiful but fully as strange. There you 
will find giant, petrified logs, three and four feet 
in diameter, projecting yards from steep bluffs of 
a peculiar bluish clay. Curiously enough, this 
" wood " is not agate, nor bright-hued, but a 
soft combination of browns and grays, and 
absolutely opaque — whereas all the "wood" 
across the valley is translucent and some of it 
quite transparent. But if these half-hidden logs 
in the bluffs are less attractive to the eye, they 
are quite as interesting, for they tell even more 
clearly of the far, forgotten days when all this 
great upland (now five thousand feet above the 
sea) sank with these forests, and lay for centuries 
in water strongly charged with mineral, which 
turned the undecaying trees to eternal stone. 
These latter trunks project about a third of the 
way up a bluff" over one hundred feet high. 
They are packed in a twenty-foot deposit of fine 
clay ; and above them since the waters buried 
them there has formed a stratum of solid sand- 
stone more than thirty feet thick ! That shows 
what uncounted millenniums they have been 



I89I.) 



STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY. 



129 



there. The river stream which carved the station. In Chalcedony Park, as this part of the 
bluffs from the general tableland, and thus at forest is called, is the largest number of huge 
last exposed the ends of these stone logs, was of petrified trees to be found in any one place in 
comparatively recent date — probably within the the world. One of them spans a small ravine 

forty feet wide, form- 
ing probably the only 
bridge of solid agate in 
the world. In a great 
jewelry store, in New 
\'ork.youcan see some 
magnificent sjjecimens 
of polished cross-sec- 
tions from these logs, 
which command very 
high prices. The man 
who superintendc<l the 
sawing of them told 
me that a steel saw, 
six inches wide and 
aided by diamond- 
(.lust, was worn down 
to a half-inch ribbon in 
going through thirty- 
six inches of that 
adamantine *'wood" 

— a process which 
lasted many days. 

In the extreme east- 
ern edge of Arizona, 
some forty miles south- 
west of the remote 
and interesting Indian 
pueblo of Zuhi, Xew 
Mexico, is a strange 
natural phenomenon 

— a great, shallow salt 
lake, at the bottom 
of a bowl-like de])res- 
sion some hundreds 
of feet doej) and about 
three miles across. The 
basin is da/./ling white 

last half-cent III). There is no knowing iiow with a crust of salt crvstals. About in the center 
much more earth and stone lay once above the rises a small black volcanic peak ; and if one 
logs, when tlie llowing waters first began t<> will take the trouble to ford the salt lake — which 
change the face of the whole country. he will find a disagreeable, but not dangerous, 

The most convenient way of reaching the task — and climb the peak, he will find its 
Petrified Forest — and the most imi)ressive part crater half filleil by a lakelet of pure, fresh 
of it — is by a fifteen-mile drixe fioin Holbrouk water! 




aoOMZH 



I Ki-.i-:-rKi NK iiTKini-:i> into \n a<;mi- hkiim.i 



( To ht iOHtlHHfti. ) 



Vol,. \IX. 




By Elizabeth Bisland. 



David Cameron was poor, or at least his 
father and mother were, which amounted to 
the same thing; for whenever he particularly 
wanted something — such as a drum, for exam- 
ple, when the boys in Jonesville were getting 
up a fife and drum corps, or a bicycle, or a 
VVaterbury watch, or even a new knife — they 
usually said they could n't afford to buy such 
things for him, and he was obliged to do with- 
out. 

His luncheon was always the plainest and 
poorest, too, of all the luncheons carried by 
the boys who went to his school; and as his 
mother kept no servant, she needed him most 
afternoons to help her about the house and 
garden. He was amiable about doing this 
sort of work for his mother, and was proud 



of being told — as he very often was — that he 
was her "greatest comfort." It gave him a nice, 
warm, agreeable feeling under his left-hand 
jacket-pocket. But at the same time no boy 
can really like to be poor and do without things ; 
so David often tried to think out some plan 
by which all this could be remedied. 

In the books he got out of the Sunday- 
school library, he found that poor boys had 
only two ways of growing rich. They sold 
newspapers to sujiport their poor sick mother, 
and then some day they rushed forward and 
saved a little girl from being run over by a car- 
riage. She was always a rich little girl, — the 
poor ones were probably too well brought up 
to play in the streets, — and there was always a 
tall beautiful lady in rich silks who clasped the 



130 



DAVID Cameron's fairy godmother. 131 

rescued little girl to her bosom, anil wept over the roads or in the fields, where he had never 
the boy, and sent him to college, and gave him seen anything suggestive of fairies, 
all the money he wanted ; and when he grew It was very dark and silent and mysterious in 
up he married the litde girl, who was by that among the trees. Soon all the noises of the 
time a young lady. Or else the boy overheard village died away ; the cackling of hens, the 
burglars plotting to rob a bank, and went and bleating of lambs who had mislaid their mo- 
told the plot to the president of the bank, in thers, and even the clinking of Jim Smith's ham- 
which case it was the president who sent him mer in the smithy could no longer be heard — 
to college and whose daughter he afterward only the far-away sighing of the wind in the 
married. tree-tops, and now and again queer rustlings 

But in Jonesville, which was a very ordinary and snappings that made David feel suddenlv 

sort of village, a boy had no chance to do fine, as if he had a large, cold, empty space inside 

startling things like that, so David found that of him. 

these volumes hardly helped him at all. He was not, however, a cowardly boy, and 

There were other books lent him by the boys when he had eaten the three buttered biscuits 

at school, with some very excellent sugges- and two apples and four slices of gingerbread 

tions about finding gold-mines and digging up he had brought lest he might be hungry, he 

pirates' treasure ; but in an inland town, hun- felt better, and pushed straight ahead with great 

dreds of miles from the sea, it was hardly worth energy and determination. He walked and he 

while to look for a pirate's hoard of bullion and walked, and after a while, when he had come 

jewels, and his father explained to him that gold to the very middle of the forest, he heard a dog 

was very seldom found in the level, grassy sort barking to the left, and immediately found him- 

of country around Jonesville. So the one thing self in front of a large, handsome house, 

practicable that David could think of was to The dog whose voice he had heard was a 

make an appeal to a fairy godmother. If he big iron dog like those that stood beside the 

could only find one of these amiable and power- front steps of Judge Murray's house. It was 

ful old ladies, she might give him the usual three rather startling to hear an iron dog bark ; and 

wishes, and then he would have all he wanted when David came near he found that this bark 

without further trouble. sounded much like the ringing of a large bell. 

So he decided that to find a fiiiry godmother This curious fact, together with the sign over 

was certainly his best plan. the door, "Joint Stock Fairy Company. Lim- 

He did not mention this ])lan to his mother, ited," convinced him that he hail been fortunate 

because he thought he 'd like to surprise her by enough to find the very jjlace he was looking 

coming back in his great gilt coach, drawn by for; and as the iron dog did not move nor look 

six milk-white horses, with bags of gold piled his way, ho sunimoneil up courage to mount 

uj) on the front seat. He could just picture the steps. He was looking for a bell-handle 

how the other boys would stare as he stepi)ed when the door was suddenly jerked ojien and 

out of the coach — with the chain of his W.iter- a head was poked out. Daviil knew it for a 

bury hanging across his waistcoat — to salute his goblin's heail immediately, as it wore one of 

mother and tell her he had made her rich for the caps with a sprout out of the top that they 

life. He omitted to mention his intention to use instead of hair. This goblin looked at him 

his father, however, because his father often in a surprised way, and saiil shaq)ly : 

threw colli water on his son's most brilliant •• What 's wanted ? Vou need n"t deafen us 

schemes. On the whole, he concluded he had wiili the bell like that." 

better not speak of the matter to any one. '"I did n't ring any bell," answered David 

When the Saturday half-holiday came he put indignantly. " There is n't any." 

his luncluon in his pocket and walked into the "Oh, there is n't. is n't there? Vou 're deaf 

woods without a word. Ho chose the woods yourself, are n't you ? That bell's been barking 

because that seemed a more likely jtlace in for the last ten minutes so we could n't hear 

which to find a fairy godmother than along our ears : " 



132 



DAVID CAMERON S FAIRY GODMOTHER. 



[Dec. 




?r P'h \! 



'the sign over the door, 'joint stock fairy company limited,' convinced him that he had been 
fortunate enough to find the very place he was looking for." 



" Oh, that ! " said David in astonishment, 
looking toward the iron dog. 

"Yes, ///<?/ .^" snapped the gobhn. "What 
do you want, anyway ? " 

" I 'm looking for a fairy godmother," replied 
David; and said it a little shamefacedly, be- 
cause the goblin looked like a very practical 
person who might declare there were no such 
things, but instead he pulled the door open, and 
then David saw that the goblin was clothed in 
a blue livery all Over buttons. 

" Whose fairy godmother do you wish to 
see ? " he asked curtly ; and David, very much 
embarrassed, said he 'd like to see his own. 

" What name ? " 

" David Cameron." 

" Any card ? " asked the goblin, holding out 
a httle silver salver; but David said he had 
none, and the goblin went away, leaving him 



seated on a velvet toadstool, the only sort of 
seat in the hall. The goblin soon returned. 

" I 've got no time to fool away on boys," 
he said, with an air of superiority and of be- 
ing overwhelmed with business. " I 've got ni}- 
knives to clean ; so just you run along up- 
stairs and knock at the first door you come to. 
You don't need me to show you up." 

With that he vanished, and David, doing as 
he was told, found himself in a room at the top 
of the stairs that was lined all with green vel- 
vet like wood-moss and more velvet toadstools 
about for seats. His godmotlier came in from 
the next room in a moment. She seemed \cr\- 
busy and a little cross at being disturbed, and 
had a ])en behind her ear. She sat down on 
one of the toadstools, and after she had polished 
her glasses with a cobweb she took from her 
pocket, she gave him a keen look and said : 



iSgi.] 



DAVID CAMERON S FAIRY GODMOTHER. 



^33 



" So you 're one of my godchildren ? " 
" Yes, 'm," answered David, a little fright- 
ened; and then he ventured to imjuire if she 
had many, having thought fairy godmothers 
had but one each. 



transacting other business of that sort, and so 
busily occupied they did n't notice David at all. 
" You see the fairy business has been very 
thoroughly organized of late years," the old 
lady explained to him, with much pride, as they 



" Many 1 Well, I should say so," cried the passed through. " It was my idea. I found 

old lady. " Two hundred and thirty-seven in each of the fairies working independently, and 

all. There 's not another such overworked the fairy gifts and godmotherships were getting 

godmother in the country. I am kept so busy dreadfully mixed and falling into disfavor; so I 

looking after them I scarcely ever have time suggested we should consolidate into the Joint 
for a cui) of tea or to 

■■■' iglit^;*. 



Now, what 
want ? " she 
'• I thought 






do a bit of knitting, 
do you 
went on. 
.f,.-.. you were 
getting on very well, 
and did n't need any 
special attention." 

This sudden question 
embarrassed Da\id very 
much, but his godmother 
had evidently had much 
experience with shy boys, 
and seemed to under- 
stand his mumbles, for 
when he had finished 
she said impatiently : 

'' Oh, yes ; I know. 
All of you want to be 
rich, and have watches 
and coaches, and aston- 
ish the other boys, and 
of course I can give you 
all that; but the (jues- 
tion is, which sort of gift 
will \ou have ? Will 
you take one of the simple 
rotary kind, or do you 
think you would rather 
have one of the automatic self-feeders?" 

Then, seeing David's puzzled look, she said, 
" Perhaps you 'd like to see both, so lli;it you 
may decide which you like best." 

She led the way into the next room where 
there were rows of desks on Ijoth sides, and in 
front of these were seateil fairies on high 
stools — their wings tied up neatly in green 
baize bags to save them from danger of ink- 




^>'o; \ 



ASV CARD . 



ASKHIi TMK (Mill IN-. I|n| DIM'. OIT A IITIIE -H A KK SAIMR. 

Stock Fairy Company. Limited, and systematize 
the whole business. .Ml fairy atilairs are trans- 
acted through our house now, and I think we 
give general satisfaction." 

From the counting-room they pa.ssed into a 
sort of librarv where all the walls on one side 
were covereil with shelves of books, each book 
having a gilt letter on the back. On the other 



siile were tables, some of which were heaped 
spots — making entries in leilgers, copying let- with big caskets of jewels and bags of gold, 
ters on typewriters, filing away vouchers, and some with watches and all sorts of toys, and 



134 



DAVID CAMERON S FAIRY GODMOTHER. 



[Dec. 



Others with cakes and candy. In one corner 
there was a table with a most curious collection 
of odds and ends — swords, pens, pencils, paint- 
brushes, spades, spirit-levels, ship's compasses, 
crucibles and retorts for a chemical laboratory, 
and a great many other things of which David 
did not know the names or uses. 

" There," said David's godmother, waving 
her hand toward the gold and jewels and cakes 
and toys, " are the automatic self-feeding gifts. 
If you choose one of those all you have to do is 
to sit down and enjoy it. It does n't require 
any effort on your part. Now these," waving her 
other hand toward where the swords and pens 
lay, "are quite different. They are entered on 
our books as simple rotary gifts. They are only 
used to work with, but extremely good work 







'SHE SEEMED VERY BUSY AND A LITTLE CROSS AT BEING 
DISTURBED." 

can be done with a fairy pen or ])encil, and in 
the end that work brings you all the watches 
and cakes and candy you choose to buy." 

David said he thought on the whole he would 
prefer the automatic self-feeding gift, because it 
was less trouble, and you did n't have to wait 
so long, but his godmother said he seemed a 
nice little boy, and she should be sorry to have 
him make a mistake in his choice, because it 
could not be remedied. Then going to one 
of the shelves she took out a book marked " D," 



and turned to an entry which was dated some 
years before. 

" See this," she said, pointing it out to him. 
And David read, " Dickens, Charles. Chose 
simple rotary gift. A box of quill pens was 
given to him." 

" I remember that little boy very well," said 
the old lady. " His own godmother was out when 
he came, so I brought him in here. He wanted 
a bag of gold, at first, but he happened to see 
one of the fairy pens over there, and he was so 
dehghted with it he chose pens instead. I sup- 
pose you know that he practised and practised 
writing with his pens until by the time he was 
grown he could write the most beautiful sto- 
ries, — some of them about boys, — over which 
people cried and laughed, and for which they 
gave him all the gold he wanted. Sometimes 
we choose one of these gifts for a boy, and for 
a long time he does n't find out in what way 
he is meant to use it. Here is another book 
labeled " F," and an entry which says : ' Frank- 
lin, Benjamin. A brass door-key was given.' He 
frowned when he received that, it seemed such 
a poor sort of gift, but he sent us w^ord afterward 
that he was more than satisfied. No doubt 
you have learned in school what he did with 
that key. Here 's another : ' Howe, Elias. A 

needle was given.' He 
insisted that we must have 
made a mistake, that a 
needle was a girl's pres- 
ent; but I spoke to him 
very sharply and said it 
was not polite for little 
boys to say they knew 
more than 'their god- 
mothers, and in course of 
time it occurred to him 
that he could bore an eye 
through the needle at 
the point instead of through the other end, 
and from that beginning he made the sewing- 
machine. He earned a great deal of money out 
of that needle, and I suppose he could have 
bought all the watches and bicycles in town if he 
had wanted to. One day there came a bright 
young boy whose name was Henry Stanley. He 
was a very polite little fellow and said he would 
rather I should choose for him ; so I gave him a 



iSgi.] 



DAVID CAMERON S 1-AIRY GODMOTHER. 



135 



pocket compass. He wrote me the other day They told me she was coming to-day. Titania 

when he got back from Africa, and says he had is the president of the company, you know, 

found it very useful in finding his way through Good-by, David. I must go to meet her. 

those terrible forests. You can see, David," his Take care of your fairy gift. The goblin will 

godmother went on, looking at him very seriously show you out." 

over her spectacles, " by the number of books " What did the old lady give you ? " said 



here that all boys ha\e some fairy gift given 
them. In the old days we 
used to give them the gift when 
they were christened, but now 
we generally let them wait 
and choose for themselves. Of 
course, if you take an auto- 
matic self-feeder, you have all 
your good things right away 
and no trouble about it ; and 
if you take the other sort you 
will have to work very hard 
with it and wait a long time 
for the bags of gold and the 
admiration of your friends ; but 
the boys who choose that kind 
of gift generally manage to do 
the world as well as themselves 
a great deal of good with it, 
and thousands of people, long 
after the boy is dead, are made 
happy because the boy used his 
gift in the right way." 

David was so moved by this 
nice, instructive little talk from 
his godmother that his heart 
(juiic swelled u.\) with lofty pur- 
pose and heroism, and he de- 
cided to turn his back on all 
the fat little bags of gold and 
the boxes of diamonds and 
rubies, and to let her choose 
him tlic simple rotary gift she 
thought best. 

She picked out a foot-rule and a pair of com- 
passes, though David looked longingly at a 
beautiful watch. Then a big bell began to 
ring somewhere, and the fairy godmother said 
hurriedlv: 

"Why, 1 declare, if lluil 's not the Queen! 



the goblin curiously as he showed David out. 




bw" ■ 



I 'it II.WK TAKKN COLD, EVERY TIME!" CRIKII THK r.OKI.IN." 

" Yah !" lie cried contemptuously. " You ti/r a 
softy. I M have taken gold, every time I ' 

" Pshaw ! " answered David in a superior 
tone, " vou 're onlv a goblin," and walked away 
through the woods woniiering what his god- 
mother ineaiu him to do with her gifts. 



IIP 



©^plaiiHt^ 



"Yy o® F^ 




J^^K%. 





THINK it really mean — don't you? — 
To leave us nothing at all to do ! 
In a world all made to order so 
A modern boy has no earthly show. 
Columbus sailed across the sea, 
Which might have been done by you or me, 
And now they call him great and wise, 
They praise his genius and enterprise, 
Although when he found our native land 
He took it for India's coral strand ! 

There 's Newton, too, saw an apple fall 
Down from the branch, and that was all — 
Yet they talk of his great imagination 
And say he discovered gravitation. 
Goodness me ! — why, I could have told 
Him all about it; at ten years old 
I knew why things fell, and I studied the rule 
For " falling bodies," in grammar-school ! 
There 's noble George, who would n't he — 
Perhaps he could n't. He did n't try. 
But if I should cut down a cherry-tree 
My father would only laugh at me. 

Benjamin Franklin — what did /w do? 
Flew a big kite ; on Sunday, too. 
Standing out in a heavy shower 
Getting soaked for half an hour, 
Fishing for lightning with a string 
To see if he could n't bottle the thing. 
Suppose I should fly my kite in the rain ? 
People would say that I was n't sane. 
Why should there such a difference be 
Between Ben Franklin, Esq., and me ? 

I can see steam move a kettle-lid 
Quite as well as James Watt did, 
136 



A COxMPLAINT. 



13; 





And I can explain about engines, too, 

Bigger and better than Watt ever knew; 

But somehow he took all the praise, 

And I 'm neglected nowadays. 

Then there 's Napoleon First, of France. — 

Suppose that we had had his chance. 

Xo doubt we 'd have been Emperors, too; 

But we 'd have conquered at Waterloo. 

I would n't have had old Grouchy make 

Such a stupid and grave mistake: 

I should have sent' him the proper way 

To arrive in time to save the day ! 

Still what makes me feel the worst 
Is Adam's renown for being first. 
That was easy enough, you know; 
It was just a thing that happened so. 
And my sister says, '^ If it had been me, 
I would n't have touched the apple-tree." 
That 's so. If she sees a snake to-day 
She gives a scream and she scoots away. 

To write such things as Shakespeare's plays 

Was not so hard in Queen Bess's days. 

But now, when every thing has been done, 

I cannot think of a single one 

To bring a boy to wealth and fame. 

It 's a regular, downright, burning shame 1 

P. S. When it 's fine, I shall play base-ball; 
For you know it never would do at all 
To forget about "Jack" who becomes, they say, 
A very dull boy, without plenty of play. 
But, wait: — when a rainy Saturday comes, 
As soon as I 've finished Monday's sums 
I 'm going to build a great tlying-machine 
That will make T. Edison look pea-green'. 
















^^■y^ 



'-'^.<'' 



^ 




HONORS TO THE FL 





By W. J. Henderson. 



O doubt most boys 
and girls have met 
with the words, 
" Serving the 
flag"; but I dare 
say that few of 
them know how 
hterally the phrase 
expresses the senti- 
ments of army and navy 
ofticers. They do not talk 
much about it, usually; but they have, away 
down in their hearts, a deep veneration for their 
country's colors ; and they do what they can to 
impress the feeling on the men who serve under 
them. 1 read in a newspaper not long ago an 
interesting anecdote of that splendid old soldier 
and gentleman, General Sherman. An officer at 
West Point told the newspaper correspondent 
that when he was a cadet General Sherman 
visited the post, and, of course, reviewed the 
battahon. " 1 was in the color-guard," said 
the officer, " and wlien the general, passing 
down the line, came to the flag, he uncovered 
his head, bowed low, and his face wore an 
expression of deepest reverence. This act of 



veneration by the stern old soldier taught us 
cadets a lesson that we can never forget." 

Boys who have attended mihtary schools 
will know what the color-guard is, but perhaps 
some of my young readers will not know. 
The color-guard is a small body of picked 
men, sergeants and corporals chiefly, who are 
stationed on each side of and behind the color- 
sergeant. The color-guard never leaves the 
flag in action, and never does any fighting 
until the last reserves are called upon. Their 
business is to stand by the flag and prevent 
it from falling into the hands of the enemy. 

Aboard ship, one of the things that used to 
be done in the good old days of wooden frigates 
was to nail the colors to the mast. Hauling 
down the colors in a naval fight is the sign 
of surrender. When they are nailed to the 
mast they cannot be hauled down ; the mast 
must be shot away, or the vessel sunk before 
the colors can be lowered. 

It is in ceremonies of various kinds that the 
honors to the flag are most frequently shown. 
A man-of-war visiting a foreign port will run 
up the flag of the country she is visiting, and 
salute it with a certain number of guns. This 



138 



HONORS TO THE FLAG. 



139 



is a pretty custom, but it is doing an honor 
to some one else's flag, not to our own. Some- 
times this honor is clone under compulsion ; 
that is, when one country is exacting an apol- 
ogy from another. The commanding officer 
of a fleet, lying in front of an enemy's town, 
may demand that the forts on the shore run 
up the flag of the country whence the fleet 
comes, and honor it with a national salute. 



may perhaps know that the flag of a ship does 
not fly during the night. It is taken in at sunset ; 
and I think the simple little ceremony which 
attends the hauling down of the ensign at sun- 
set is one of the prettie.it in existence. The 
first time I ever saw it I was sitting on the 
quarter-deck of the U. S. S. " Yantic," convers- 
ing with three of her officers. We had been 
dining together, and were enjoying the 




!l v.r'i^'V:^- 



GENERAL SIIBKMAN SALUTINi; THE KLAG AT WEST PlUVT. 



l his suit ot tiling. Iidwcxcr, belongs lo the cvc cool evening breeze uniler the awning. 1 knew 

of iiostilities. that it was nearly time for "evening colors." 

I am not so familiar with the customs of and I was anxious to see whether the ceremony 

the army in regard to the tlag ; but in tlie in the navy was difterent from that aboard a 

navy I know they are admirable, and deci- first-class yacht. I speedily learned that there 

dedly worthy of emulation in civil life. You was a difference. 



140 



HONORS TO THE FLAG. 



[Dec. 



A k\v minutes be- 
fore sundo\\ n a bugle- 
call sounded from the 
flag-ship, and the call 
was immediately re- 
peated by the buglers 
of the other ships of 
the squadron. 

" What is that ? " I 
asked. 

" That 's ' Stand by 
the colors,'" said one 
of the officers. 

Two sailors came aft, 
cast off the ensign hal- 
yards, and stood by 
with their eyes on the 
flag-ship. In a few mo- 
ments we heard bugles 
sounding again ; for 
you must know that 
on board ship many of 
the commands are con- 
veyed by a few musical 
notes upon the bugle. 
A marine came aft and, saluting, said : 

" Haul down, sir." 

" All right," said' the officer of the deck. 
"Sound off" 

At that order the bugler of the Yantic blew 
the lovely call, " Evening Colors." 

Here it is : 




' EVENING COLORS. 




q 



tl 



-^JU/«_ 



-^—-1, 



'E^^ 



E^?3 



t:= 




m^-^^m-^m-, 






The moment he sounded the first note, the 
officers rose from their cliairs, faced the colors, 
took off their caps, and stood silent, in respect- 
ful attitudes, while the two seamen slowly 
hauled down the colors, bringing them in over 
the rail as the call came to an end. When the 
colors reached the deck and were gathered in 
by the seamen, and the last note of the bugle 



died away, the officers put on their caps, re- 
sumed their seats, and went on with their con- 
versation. Removing the cap in honor of the 
colors is the common form of salute in the 
navy. When an officer comes up from below 
he always lifts his cap in the direction of the 
quarter-deck ; and all boys should remember, 
when visiting a man-of-war, that the proper 
thing to do when you go on board is to turn 
toward the stern of the ship, where the ensign 
always flies at the taftrail staff, and raise the 
hat. If the officer of the deck sees you, he will 
return the salute ; but whether any one is on 
the quarter-deck or not, always raise your hat 
when }ou go aboard. The salute is to the flag, 
not to any person, and surely every American 
boy ought to 1)0 proud to lift his liat to the flag 
of his country. 

The ceremony of making " evening colors," 
which I have described, is also conducted at 
army posts. I have seen it only at West Point. 
There it is done at dress-parade, which takes 
place at 6.30 p. i\i. Perhaps some of my read- 
ers have never seen a dress-parade. The battal- 
ion of cadets is drawn u]) in a line of two ranks. 



I89I. 



HONORS TO THE FLAG. 



141 



facing the west side of the plain. Each com- 
pany in succession is brought to an order arms, 
and then to a parade rest. Next the band 
marches from its position at the right of the 
hne to the left, passing in front of the men 
and back again. On returning to the right of 
the line, the band stops and the buglers play 
" Retreat " or " Evening Colors." The same 
call is used in both army and navy. At the 
end of the call a gun is fired and the flag is 
hauled down. After that, the adjutant forms 
the battalion in open order and turns it over to 
the officer in charge, who puts the men through 
a short drill in the manual of arms. When this 
has been done, the adjutant orders the first ser- 
geants to the front and center, where they make 
their report of " all present or accounted for." 
^\'hen they return to their places, the adjutant 
says, " Parade dismissed," and all the com- 
missioned officers sheathe their swords. They 
then form in a rank in the center and march 



forward together. They halt in front of the 
ofticer in charge, salute, and move away. The 
first sergeants then march the companies to 
their quarters at double-time. 

It is a very pretty ceremony, and is one of the 
most picturesque sights that we can see ; but 
it never impressed me so deeply as that simple 
reverence to the colors shown at sunset aboard 
the Yantic. 

I have told you about these ceremonies to 
show you how much importance professional 
soldiers and sailors attach to the outward dem- 
onstration of respect for their country's flag, 
Ijecause I think every one of us ought to emu- 
late their example. As H. C. Bunner says, in 
his poem to " The Old Flag " : 

( )fr with your hat as the flag goes by ! 

And let the heart have its say ; 
You 're man enough for a tear in your eye 

That you will not wipe away. 





-/ 






^- 



^ 



■A. Partihq Jalute 



si'ia.LiXL. ■• Ki 1 ii:.\."' 



I'.V -M. !•. II \KM \N. 



A DKAR little girl. 
With her brain in a whirl. 
Was asked the word " kitten " to spell. 
" K-doul)le i-t 
T-e-n." said she, 
.And thouffht she had done verv well. 



" Has kitten two i 's ? " 

.\nd the teacher's surprise 

With mirth and im|>atience was blent. 
" A/v kitty has two," 

Said Marjory Lou, 

.\nd she looked as .she felt — (juite content. 




By Oliver Herford 




Crocodile once She sent ofif at once to a Goat. 



dropped a line 
To a Fox to in- 
vite him to 
dine ; 

But the Fox 
wrote to 
say 
He was din- 
ing, tJiat 
day, 
With a Bird friend, 
and begged to de- 
chne. 



) I y 







" Pray don't disappoint me," she wrote; 

But he answered too late, 

J/e 'd forgotten the date. 
Having thoughtlessly eaten her note. 







'y ''/ 




The Crocodile thought him ill-bred, 
And invited two Rabbits instead ; 
But the Rabbits replied, 
They were hopelessly tied 
By a previous engagement, and fled. 



THE CROCODILE. 



143 











Then she wrote in despair to some 

Eels, 
And begged them to " drop in " 
to meals ; 
But the Eels left their cards 
]\'U/i their coldest regards. 
And took to what went for their 
heels. 




Cried the Crocodile then, in disgust, 
" My motives they seem to mistrust. 
Their suspicions are base I 
Since they don't know their place, — 
I suppose if I tiiiist starve, I tniist .' " 





By Eliza Orne White 



Miss Sylvia Russell was to be " At Home " 
on a certain afternoon, and she asked Mr. and 
Mrs. Henry Turner Benson and family, among 
other people, to come and see her. Poor little 
Molly was heartbroken, when the day arrived, 
because she was not allowed to go with the 
others. 

" ' Family ' means Flora and me, Mama, just 
as much as it means Turner and Ruth and 
Aunt Mary," she suggested. 

" My dear," said her aunt Mary, " little girls 
do not go to teas given by grown-up young 
ladies." 

Molly thought this very hard, for she knew 
that Miss Sylvia was fond of her, and she 
cried a little when she saw Ruth and Turner 
start for the tea with the older members of 
the family. Her aunt Mary told her not to be 
such a baby, but her mama comforted her by 
promising to bring her home a macaroon and 
a cocoanut-cake, and perhaps a piece of candy. 

Molly sent a message by her mama to 
Miss Sylvia, who, she was quite sure, was ex- 
pecting to see her. Molly was afraid Miss 
Sylvia would be very much disappointed when 
she did not come ; indeed she felt almost sorrier 
for Miss Sylvia than for herself. 

Bridget was putting Molly to bed when the 
family came home, but Molly slipped out of the 
door and ran along the passage with her little 
bare feet. 

" Did you give my message to Miss Sylvia, 
Mama ? " she asked, as she buried her curly 
head in her mama's black silk gown, 

" Yes, darling ; and she said she was very 
sorry, but that she could not have seen any- 



thing of her little Molly if she had come, be- 
cause there were so many, many people ; and 
she sent you these roses and this candy, and 
she says some day soon she will have a very 
small afternoon tea on purpose for you." 

Molly took the pretty pink roses, and her 
mama kept the candy for another day. The 
little girl felt very happy as she crept back to 
bed. 

A few days later, when the postman came to 
the door bringing big envelops with big let- 
ters in them for big people, he also brought 
a little envelop with a little card in it for a 
little person. The direction was printed, so 
that Molly could read it herself It ran : 

Miss Molly Benson and two of her family, 

Knightsbridge, 
Mass. 

There was a rough little picture of a doll in 
the right-hand corner next the word "family," 
so that Molly should make no mistake. 

Molly opened the envelop neatly with a 
pair of scissors, as she had seen her. aunt Mary 
do, and on the card inside she read : 







SlbU^ (Sylvia cRut 


xsclL 








Q^t cHjome--, 








cfzida 


ij, c)lt>axcli twc 


n lie ill, 






itoin 


tltxee to jive o 


.loch. 


^0 


meet 


c9/^(J.) Julia ('\)tcth 


Op}/- 



Molly clapped lier hands and danced with 
delight, for Julia Esterhazy was her dearest 



'44 



AFTERNOON TEA. 



145 



friend, who lived in the big white house just dolls, and did not look so fresh as in her early 
across the way. youth, but she was the most unselfish of the 

Molly ranged her dolls in a row, and tried to family. 



decide which were the most deserving. Some 
had been so naughty that there was no question 
of taking them, and others were too small to go 
out to tea with a grown-up lady; but there were 
four about whom she was uncertain, and she 




"'DID vol' CIVK MISS SVI.VIA MY MBSSAC.R, MAMA? 

finally took tlu-iii into tlu' lilnaiN. that Turner 
and Flora, who wrri' studying liicir lessons, 
might hell) Ikt deciile. 

In the first place, there was Jenny, named 
for Molly's mama, and usually called Jane to 
avoid confusion. She was the oklest of all the 
Vol. XIX.— 10. 



" Jane's complexion seems to have suffered," 
Turner remarked. " Too many late hours, I 
suppose." 

" I think I ought to take her to Miss Syl- 
via's," Molly said, "she is so good; and then I 
ought to do more for her than for the rest, be- 
cause she is so ugly." 

Next came Sylvia Russell Benson, 
who, Molly felt, must surely have 
the honor of drinking tea with 
Miss Sylvia because she was 
her namesake. She was a 
fair-haired, blue-eyed doll, 
with a sweet disposition 
and a blue cashmere 
gown. 

Then came George 
Washington Benson, 
who was dressed in a 
neat sailor suit ; Molly 
wished him to go be- 
cause he was her only 
son. 

" Don't take George 

^^^^^^ Washington," Turner 

|lr^^^^^B,V advised; "for if he is 

the only fellow there 
he '11 be awfully bored." 
Lastly there was the 
Princess, a very grand 
personage, in a red- 
velvet gown. She was 
so distinguished that 
Molly felt in awe of her 
and atVaid to leave her 
behind; at which Turner 
said that she did not show 
l)roper s\nrh. Molly therefore left 
it uniertain whether the Princess 
or Jane should have the j)leasure. The day 
before the tea, Molly caught cold ; it was not 
a bad cold, but as her aunt Mary was putting 
Ikt to beil she said carelessly. " If it is n't 
pleasant to-morrow, you won't be able to go to 
Miss Sylvia's." 

Molly felt that .she should surely be worse if 
slie couKl not go to the tea. 



146 



AFTERNOON TEA. 



[Dec. 



The next morning she crept out of bed at an back into bed this minute, unless you want to 

early hour and ran to the window. She pulled have pneumonia." 

back the blue-and- white chintz curtains softly, " You won't be able to go out of the house 

that she might not wake her aunt Mary, and to-day," her aunt observed as she was dressing 

peered out into the gray dawn. The night be- Molly, a little later. 




'don't take GEORGE WASHINGTON,' TURNER ADVISED; 'FOR IF HE IS THE ONLY FELLOW THERE HE LL BE 

AWFULLY BORED.' " 



fore everything was brown, for there had been 
a thaw which had melted all the pretty white 
snow from the fields and the hills, but now, in 
the places where everything had been dark, 
there was a soft white powder. The ground 
was all white, and the hills were white too, and 
even the trees were bending under the weight 
of a white burden, while from the sky, as far 
up as Molly could see, floated down myriads 
of feathery, star-like little snowflakes. It was 
all so beautiful that she clasped her hands to- 
gether, and looked at it in silence. She was 
brought back to the actual world at last by her 
aunt Mary. 

" Molly Benson ! " she exclaimed, " come 



Molly said nothing ; she had learned by ex- 
perience that it was best not to dispute her 
aunt's decisions. 

" I think mama will let me go. I think mama 
will let me go," she kept saying to herself. 

At breakfast everybody was delighted with 
the snow-storm, for different reasons. 

" We shall have some good coasting," Turner 
exclaimed. 

" And tobogganing," added Ruth. 

" I can take my dinner to school and stay 
over the noon recess," said Flora. 

They all had forgotten about Molly's after- 
noon-tea. She sat quite silent for a time, but 
at last she ])lucked up her courage. 



I89I.) 



AFTERNOON TEA. 



H7 
" Papa," she said, " don't you think we may " Would n't you Hke a popcorn ball if I can 



have a thaw by afternoon ? " 

" Not the least chance of it," her father re- 
plied, with a laugh. 

There was another silence. 

" Papa," said Molly at last, " don't you think 
it will stop snowing pretty soon ? " 

" Oh, no ; we are in for a solid snow-storm this 
time." 

" Papa," said Molly, wistfully, " don't you 
think I can go to Miss Sylvia's, even if it does 
snow ? " 

" Indeed she can't, Henry,'" interposed Mol- 



get one down street ? " he added. 

She shook her head. 

" Perhaps Miss Sylvia will ask you another 
day," he suggested. 

" She 's going away for a visit pretty soon." 
Molly said in a subdued voice. 

" Well, if I were the clerk of the weather, I 'd 
tell the snow to hold up this afternoon," said 
Turner. " I 'd say, ' \\'inds to the north, colder 
weather, a thundering big snow-storm all 
through New England, and especially on the 
hills and toboggan-slide in Knightsbridge; but 



ly's aunt Mary; "she has too much of a cold, in the village itself, between Main and Chatham 
It would be a ridiculous idea, and besides, Sylvia streets, pleasant weather, fair, southerly winds, 
won't expect the children to come in such a and a flood of sunshine.' " 



storm." 

Molly's spirits sank lower and lower. Two 
tears trembled on the lids of her blue eyes 
doubtfully for a minute; then she bravely forced 
them back. Her mama looked up just in 
time to catch the pleading, eager expression 
of her face. 



Molly began to laugh, and Turner felt as if 
the sunshine were comin^r. " I wish vou were 
the weather-man," she said. 

Everybody went out that morning except 
Molly and her mama. Molly's papa went to 
his law-office; her aunt Mary went to teach 
the Literature class at the High School, as she 



" Do you want to go very much, my litde did every Friday, while Ruth and Turner took 



girl ? " she asked. 

" Very, very much," said Molly. 

" But if you were to take cold and be ill, 
and make yourself and all of us very unhappy, 
you would wish you had stayed at home." 



their dinners to the- High School, and Flora 
carried hers to the Grammar School. 

Molly's mama told her to get her work and 
come and sew with her while she mended the 
stockings. The little girl felt as if she could 



Molly was not sure about this, so she kept never be happy any more, but she did not wish 



silent. She thought she would be willing to 
be sick if only she could be sure of the after- 
noon-tea first. 

When breakfast was over she went up to 
the play-room, and, taking in her arms Jane, 
who was always her comfort in sorrow, she 
wept bitterly. 

" We are not to go to the lea, Jenny," she 
.said, " none of us; none of us. So you need n't 
feel badly, dear, because you might have had 
to stay at home. Tlu- Princess can't go, and 
Sylvia can't go, and 1 am not to go myself." 

She was still sobbing when Turner came in 
to get his French grammar. " HulK)!" he said. 
" What 'sthe matter?" 

Molly continued to sob. 

It always made Turner feel sorry to see peo- 
ple cry. even if they were very small people 
like Molly. 

" I guess I would n't cry," he said slowlv. 



to trouble her dear mama, and so she said noth- 
ing about the afternoon-tea. By and by they 
heard the telephone-bell ring, and Mrs. Benson 
went to see what was wanted. Presently Molly 
heard her say, "It 's such a storm and she has 
a little cold, so her fiither is afraid to let 
her go." 

Molly listened eagerly ; she wished .she could 
hear the voice at the other end of the tele- 
l)lK)ne, which she was sure was Miss Sylvia's. 
What could she be saying ? 

'• Vou are ver)- kind," said Mrs. Benson, 
" but that will be a great deal of trouble, and 
do you want to send the horse out on such a 
day ? " 

Molly could hardly wait for the next word.s. 

" \'ery well, then," said her mama; "she will 
be ready at three o'clock." 

Molly ran and flung her arms around her 
mother and pressed her cheek against her 



148 



AFTERNOON TEA. 



[Dec. 



hand ; she was too happy to speak. Then she " I love her the best of all my children," 

caught up Jenny and hugged her too. " Jane, Molly said sturdily. 

you shall go to the party instead of the Prin- " I should get her a new head if she be- 

cess," she said, " because you are the best of all longed to me." 

my children. Mama, what did Miss Sylvia " But she would n't be the same person 

say ? " then," Molly objected. 

" She said she would send the covered sleigh, When they reached Miss Sylvia's house, John, 

for you and Julia this afternoon, and that she the man, helped them out of the sleigh and then 

is sure you won't take cold if you are well he handed out the four dolls very respectfully, 



wrapped up." 

Julia was already in the sleigh when it came, 
and she laughed because Molly had on so 
many wraps, and called her " Mother Bunch." 




MISS SYLVIA WAS WAITING IN THE HALL TO RECEIVE THEM. 



Julia was six months older than Molly, and an 
inch taller. Her hair was much darker, and 
her eyes were a very dark brown. 

" Why did you bring that hideous old 
Jane?" Julia asked, as she caressed her two 
pretty Paris dolls, Lily and Maud. 



as if they had been live ladies. 

Miss Sylvia was waiting in the hall to receive 
them; she had on her pretty blue gown with 
ribbons and lace down the front of it. She 

kissed both the children, 
and then she shook hands 
gravely with the four 
dolls, but she evidently 
preferred Jane, who, she 
said, looked as if she had 
force of character and re- 
serve strength. Presently 
she led the way into the 
dining-room. At one 
end, in the bow-window, 
there was a small table 
about as high as a kin- 
dergarten table, covered 
with a white cloth. On 
it were two very small 
silver candlesticks, with 
a yellow candle in one 
and a blue one in the 
other. Some yellow and 
white daisies were in a 
blue bowl on the middle 
of the table. There were 
seven places laid, with 
three small plates for Miss 
Sylvia and the little girls, 
and four very tiny plates 
for the four dolls. There 
were, besides, three small 
white-and-gilt cups and 
saucers for Miss Sylvia 
and the little girls, and four tiny white cups and 
saucers for the four dolls. At Miss Sylvia's end 
of the table were a small silver cream-pitcher and 
a white china tea-pot with a wreath of roses painted 
on it. The tea-pot contained tea made of mo- 
lasses and water which was very delicious. In 



iSgi.] 



AFTERNOON TEA. 



149 



front of Molly was a little china dish full of 
animal-crackers, and in front of Julia a silver 
dish filled with cocoanut-cakes and maca- 
roons. Each doll had an oyster-cracker on 
her plate, and Miss Sylvia hoped they would 
not find these too large to eat; she said they 
were their pilot-biscuit. Molly and Julia each 
had a little card with verses at her plate, and a 
barley-sugar animal. Julia's was a cat, and her 
verse said : 

Here 's a sweet cat for a sweet child. 

She ne'er will scratch nor bite. 

E'en if you bite her, she 's so mild 

She '11 think you wholly right. 

Molly's animal was a rabbit, and her rimes 

said : 

I hope you will welcome this rabbit, my dear, 
I hope you will welcome this rabbit. 
He puts back his ear, for lie wishes to hear. 
But indeed 't is a curious habit, my dear. 
Indeed 't is a curious habit. 

He rushes and skips through the snow-storm, 

my dear. 
He rushes and skips, though 't is snowing. 
And I can't keep him back. 
But he makes a quick track, 

And he says " To my Molly I m going, my dear," 
He says, "To my Molly I 'm going." 



Molly wondered why grown people did not 
have molasses and water instead of tea, it was 
so much nicer. Miss Sylvia seemed to think 
so too, for she said a little went a great way, 
and she took only very small sips, so as to 
make it last a long time. 

They had a merry afternoon playing games 
and telling stories after they had had their tfea, 
and five o'clock came only too soon. Then 
Miss Sylvia put on their things, and she bade 
her two young friends good-by for a whole 
month, for she was going away on her visit 
the next week. 

" What a lovely time we had ! " said Molly 
to Julia as they were driving home. " I never 
had such a good time. I don't suppose we 
shall ever have such a good time again." 

" Of course we shall," said Julia, " lots of 
better times." 

Julia had already begun upon her candy, 
and said that it was very nice, and she advised 
Molly to eat hers ; but Molly saved her rabbit 
and put him away tenderly in her drawer in 
the bureau to remind her thenceforth of the 
blissful day when she had taken afternoon-tea 
with Miss Sylvia. 



THE ESCAPE OF A WHOLE MENAGERIE. 



By Edgar W. Nve. 



Many years ago in a Western State there 
lived a short, wide boy witli pale hair and sun- 
burned feet. His first name was Carroll. It 
was a new country and neighbors were not very 
near, so Carroll had few playmates with the ex- 
ception of a large speckled cat named "Tom," 
who had been carefully taught to climb a tree 
when any one set the dog on him, and "Jack," a 
bow-legged, ecru dog who had been taught to 
dig holes in the ground so that people could fall 
into them after dark. 

Jack was an obscure dog. but he led a blame- 
less life. Though he had no pedigree to speak 
of, he showed that a self-made dog may make 



himself beloved by doing right and attending 
to his own business. 

Carroll's two brothers were ten years his se- 
niors, and so he could n't get much fun out of 
them. They wouUl leave him for days at a 
time while they went away to snare suckers or 
to carry an oUl cast-iron gun around over the 
country all day, so all that Carroll could do 
was to take Jack anil dig some more holes in 
- the garden. Jack never dug out many gophers, 
because he always worked where Carroll told 
him. and as Carroll was only four years old. he 
was n't a gootl judge about where to dig for 
gophers; but between the two, they managed to 



I50 



THE ESCAPE OF A WHOLE MENAGERIE. 



[Dec. 



dig out a good many potatoes and other vege- 
tables. Jack never allowed vegetables to in- 
terfere with his digging. He would begin at 
ten o'clock on a hot July day, and dig in a mis- 
cellaneous manner till his tongue would hang 
out a long distance, and the air would be filled 
with his pants. 

One night Carroll's father caught a large gray 
rat in a wire-cage trap. Tiie next day the boy 
took the rat, Jack, and Tom, and organized a 
menagerie. They traveled around the door- 
yard all the forenoon giving exhibitions to them- 
selves. The principal attraction consisted in 
poking the rat, "Gumbo," with a long stick till 
he squealed. The rest of the time was mainly 
devoted to dazzling street-parades. Then Car- 
roll would feed the animals and poke the rat 
again to make him roar. This 
showed that Carroll had the right 
idea about running a menagerie. 
The great trouble, however, was 
that Jack and Tom did not like 
the way they were fed. They 
wanted to be fed with the rest 
of the menagerie. 

In the afternoon the colossal 
aggregation gave an exhibition 
in the kitchen. It was more 
of a rehearsal than anything 
else, for no spectators were ad- 
mitted. The animals had been 
fed once more, the cat's tail 
had been pulled a few times, and 
Gumbo had been poked till his 
hyena squeals could be heard 
for a long distance. 

At this time the proprietor of 
the great congress of rare zoo- 
logical wonders, by mistake, 
punched the cage door of the 
enraged Gumbo so that it flew 
open, and the infuriated beast 
sprang out at a single bound ! 
The doors of the kitchen hip- 
podrome were closed, and a grand panic ensued. 
Both Jack and Tom would have liked to attack 
Gumbo, but they had lost all their teeth and 
had not felt able to buy artificial ones. 

It was a trying moment in the life of the 
young showman. He was very much agitated. 



for he did not want his menagerie to escape. 
He called Jack's attention to the matter, and 
the procession began to move around the room 
at a rapid rate, with Gumbo about four feet 
ahead. 

People in the adjoining room wondered what 
had happened in the hippodrome. Different 
members of the family rushed to the spot. 
The excitement was intense. When the family 
arrived, the owner of the aggregation and his 
celebrated trick-dog Jack had cornered the 
ferocious brute, and the proprietor had just 
stepped on him with his bare foot. The spec- 
tators were breathless. The tow-headed rat- 
tamer did not quail ; he looked the angry 
brute squarely in the eye. 

All at once, Gumbo made a superhuman 




IT WAS A 



K-^yiv, 1,1-^ 



TRYING MOMENT IN THE LIFE OF THE YOUNG SHOWMAN." 

Struggle, and with a wild, despairing shriek, that 
resounded in every part of the arena, darted up 
the trousers-leg of the dauntless owner! It 
was the supreme moment for prompt and de- 
cisive action. The keeper seized the now thor- 
oughly enraged beast from the outside and 



iSji-l 



THE ESCAPE OF A WHOLE MENAGERIE. 



151 



held him. Mc did not hold him because he 
absolutely needed him. He did not retain him 
because of his intrinsic value, but because he 
seemed to think that a rat in the hand is worth 
two rats roaming around next to 
the person and dragging their 
cold tails after them in that de- 
pressing way peculiar to the rat. 

Those who have never caught 
a rat under these circumstances 
should be slow to criticize the 
course of those who have. Here 
was the owner of a wild animal, 
solicitous, a moment before, to 
secure the beast, and now almost 
regretting he had succeeded. 

He could not send the dog 
after the rat, and yet he could 
not stand there patiently and wait 
for the rat to die of old age, for a 
rat sometimes lives a long time. 
There w-as but one thing to do, 
and this he did. He had no 
pocket in his trousers, but he 
had a place for one. Through 
this place he ran his hand slowly, 
till he got hold of Gumbo. Then 
he took the enraged animal out 
and slid him into the den. 

Carroll kept (lumbo for a long 
time after that, but he never 
poked him lo make him roar. 
Rats do not roar in a normal state. 
Roaring is not their forte. The 
voice of the rat is not suited to it. 
and he seems to know it. 

Gumbo became more docile at last, and 
would often eat out of a .stranger's hand, trying 
to eat part of the hand also, to show thai lie 
liked every one, especially strangers. 

Carroll ijrew to be a ninn. and is now a law- 



yer by profession. For years he has paid very 
little attention to the rat industry, but if you 
suddenly address him even now with the state- 
ment " RATS ! " you will be sure to attract his 




,> Ki/vi ill 



9, 






111-: DID NOT HOLD IIIM BECAUSE HE ABSOLfTELY NEEPED HIM. 

attention, and he will ask who told you that 
.story about liim. 

lUii 1 hope you will not mention my name 
in the matter. It is a true story, but he did not 

want it to got out. 



FOR MIDDLE-AGED LITTLE FOLKS. 




THE NOAH'S ARK 



The Noah's Ark 's a pleasant place, 

With windows on each side, 
And half the painted shingle roof 

Is hinged, and opens wide. 

And often Noah and his wife, 

In dresses green and blue, 
Take out the animals to walk 

In rows of two and two. 

And Noah was a cheerful man; 

He always wore a smile ; 
But Mrs. Noah used to fret 

And worry all the while. 

Sometimes she 'd fret because their dog 

Was looking thin and brown ; 
Or else because the elephant 
So often tumbled down. 
And when they reached the ark at last 

She 'd roll and scrape about 
To count the animals, for fear 
That some had been left out. 

Good Mr. Noah often said : 
" Don't worry so, my dear, 
Or very soon your pretty paint 
Will all wear off, I fear!" 

"Oh, dear!" she cried, "this cow is scratched I 
The wolf is on his head ! " 
And so she fretted spite of all 
That Mr. Noah said. 

And so poor Mrs. Noah's paint 
Began to crack and fade; 

But Mr. Noah still looked bright 
As when he first was made. 

Katharine Pyle. 



XoP. 



152 



FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK. 



'^'Ji^.,'% f.0'>, 'A' 



wv\ 




F]/ive frisky ponies waitincf at The ga + e, 
5l/hoe Them, saddle Them, and ride off in sTate 
Oijne pony for my little man^ -ji:.!^ 
TjJvvo ponies make a span; 'liiii/S^tfiv 
TS h r e e ponies in a row; |i? j/j. W- 
pfflour ponies ready to cfo^ 

^F.i\/e ponies, glossy and bright 

^U)iip street, - down street. 





And home again at niqht 



«S3 



154 



JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT. 



[Dec. 




JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT. 



Here comes December, my beloved, — bright 
and joyous, bearing Christmas in his arms! His 
wintry face beams with merry kindhness and Chris- 
tian good-fellowship for one and all. 

No decrepit, tottering old man he (though he 
often is so misrepresented), but the stately white- 
robed priest of the departing year. He will go with 
1 89 1, and we shall see his cheery face no more. 

How shall he leave you, my friends ? Richer and 
better for the year that has been yours, grateful for 
past and present joys and with hearts full of trust, 
patience, and love ? and hands ready to help others 
less fortunate than yourselves? If so, all is well, 
and your Jack need say no more about it. 

Now we will consider 

COUNTING A BILLION. 

The man does not live who can count a billion. 
At least, an English billion. So says the Deacon. 
Now who can explain this remarkable assertion? 

/can. But I prefer to wait till some of you, my 
young friends, have risen to explain. 

A WESTERN WHITTINGTON AND HIS CATS. 

Here comes a story for you which sounds almost 
like an out-West fairy tale, but I am told that it is 
strictly true : 

During the first days of " Pike's Peak," when that 
country was being occupied by mining prospectors, their 
cabins were overrun with rats — not your domesticated, 
house-mice and -rats of an old civilized community, but 
rats — large, ravenous rats — with teeth and digestive 
apparatus capable of managing anythmg from a tough 
okl boot to a dainty piece of breakfast l^acon. 

This state of affairs came to the knowledge of a thrifty 
Dutchman, poor, but willing to earn a bright dollar if the 
way was only pointed out, and roused his dormant ideas 
to take advantage of the rat nuisance and profit thereby. 
The Dutchman secured a yoke of oxen, rigged a prairie- 



schooner with three stories, and filled the same with 
good cats which his neighbors were glad to be rid of. 
With this outfit he started across the plain for Pike's 
Peak, a tedious journey of some six hundred miles. 
This, with scant supplies of game, prepared the cats 
for any encounter with tlieir victims. 

Their arrival spread joy among the householders, and 
everything was set aside to purchase cats. When the 
stock of our worthy Dutchman had been speedily con- 
verted into gold-dust, he sold his team, returned on foot 
across the desert plains to Omaha with over $1500, and 
bought a farm near by. But the climax of this venture 
was attained when his faithful oxen strayed back to him ! 

"I DON'T CARE A RAP!" 

Sometimes these words are wafted past my pul- 
pit from the lips of some defiant boy or girl — who, 
lay the way, viay care a great deal, in spite of this 
off-hand assertion to the contrary. 

I never quite knew what the expression meant, 
but I suspected it alluded to a rap on the hand or 
head until I one day heard the dear Little School- 
ma'am explaining to the Deacon that a rap was a 
counterfeit coin formerly used in Ireland as small 
change. It was the siTiallest coin and one of the 
very least worth, and so folk came to express their 
utter indifference to a thing or a circumstance by 
exclaiming: " I don't care a rap ! " 

A PUZZLE IN ADDITION. 

Now, boys and girls of the red school-houses in 
particular, and all school-houses in general, who 
says there is no fun in figures ? 

Your good friend E. T. Corbett sends this pleas- 
ant puzzle to amuse and enlighten you on some long 
winter evening. She does not claim that it is new ; 
but as the Little Schoolma'am declares that it not 
only is curious and interesting but very well 
stated, you shall have it : 

This is an old puzzle, but it may be new to some of 
the boys and girls who read this magazine. 

Take your pencil and paper, and ask the person you 
wish to puzzle to mention any number in three figures 
between loo and 999. 

Write the amount he mentions at the top of your pa- 
per. Remark carelessly that you always put down the 
answer to a sum before putting down the figures. Let 
us suppose that the number given you is 346. The an- 
swer to tlie sum is found by subtracting 2 from the unit 
column, and putting this 2 on the left-hand side, thus : 

346 Amount given. 

) Space left for 
\ figures. 



2344 



Answer to sum. 



The answer is ahvays computed in this way, from the 
first amount mentioned. 

Now ask for a second sum of three figures. Put them 
under the 346, and then very quickly and silently write 
down three figures under these last ones, in such pro- 
portions that you make his last three and your tinee 
add just 999 together. For instance, if the number given 
to you is 758, you must put down 241. Now ask a tliird 
amount to be mentioned, suppose this is 159; then you 
must again add three figures to make 999, viz.: 840. 
Now hand the paper to any one to add up tlie amounts, 
which will be found correct. You see you will have five 



I89I.] 

amounts in 
this always 
already wri 



JACK-IN-TIIE-PULPIT. 



DO 



738 

SS42 

2756 



all 10 be added together. If rightly done 
causes much surprise, as the answer has been 
tten. 

Example. 

.(l) Sum given by any one to you. 

(3) Sum given to you to put down. 

(4) Sum added by'you to make 999. 

(5) Sum given lo you to put down. 

(6) Sum added by you lo make 999. 

(2) Answer written next, by taking 2 from 
unit column of first sum given, and 
putting it on left-hand side. 



whatever other discomforts she may have suffered, 
hunger was not one of them. 

On arriving at its destination in New York Stale, 
the case was opened, and the men employed m 
taking out the fruit were very much surprised at 
seeing, on one of the bunches of bananas, the 
mother possum, and the little possums on her back, 



Now you shall have a whiff of poetry to cool your 
brains. It is a pretty tribute from Miss lone L. 
Jones to our friend Last Month, who still lingers 
with his crisp good-byes. 

NOVEMBER. 

You 'VE a little warm spot in your heart, 

O November, 
For manv a year I remember— remember 
The little warm spot in your heart. 

You really try to be gruft", 

You dissemble. 
Though your voice down the chimney makes 
little ones tremble 
When you really try to be gruff. 

You are beautiful when you are kind, 

O late coiner ; 
When you hold in your lap your sweet child — 
Indian Summer, 
You are beautiful when you are kind. 

POSSUM STOWAWAYS. 

Dear T\ck. : Here are some curious little stow- 
awavs which hid in a case of bananas, and, in 
that' novel state-room, traveled all the way from 
Surinam, in South .Vmcrica, to a town in the inte- 
rior of New York Stale, urn 

Had these tiny visitors traveled as other tolks 
do thev doubtless would have been introduced to 
the people on board the ship as Merians Opossum 
and Babies, and, later on, it would have been earned 
thev were so named after the celebrated lady natu- 
ralist and traveler, Madame Merian, of whose brave 
voyaging 1 trust your young hearers have read. 

Possibly, in seeking food in their native tropics, 
the quaint little possums, whose pictures I send to 
the children, espied great iieaps of luscious fruit ly- 
ing readv for exportation, and, winle feeding t lere, 
were suddenly alarmed by some natives, and hid 
for snfetv in an oi'on case of bananas. Or they 
may have been placeil accidentally in the case with 
the' fruit, the natives not suspecting their presence. 
One thing is certain— the case, with them in it. 
was nailed up, and put aboard a ship bound for 
New York. 

The mother jjossum was more fortunate than 
must stowaways, however, for tlie case in which she 
found herself' so securely fastened was furnished 
with a bountiful supply of good things to eat: and 




with their tiny tails firmly curled around hers, just 
as thev are sh'own in the picture. u i » 

Mother and children were not at all disturbed at 
being discovered. They seemed to consider they 
had fust as good a right to the " land oi the free as 
had otlier emigrants. True enough, this lamily had 
traveled in a very irregular manner: ihcy had paid 
no fare, and besides had helped themselves to some 
of the cargo ; in fact, they were stowaways m every 
sense of the word. I believe stowaways usnally are 
returned to the land from which they hail, but an 
exception was made in this case, and the quaint 
little possums were most cordi;>lly welcomed. 
^ Mkremth Nii-.EM. 

A GOOD LONG GERMAN WORD. 

llKRi- is a long word for beginners, which the 
dear Little Schooima'am has found in a recent issue 

of a C.erman newspaper : 

Neapolitanersdudelsackpfeifergesellschaftsunter- 

stiitziingsverein. ^ . • .• ^c 

It is supposed to mean " Benefit Association of 
Neapolitan Bagpipe Players." 




A CHRISTMAS NOVELTY. 

"A mighty maze! but not without a plan." 

Dear St. Nicholas : A maze or cobweb may be a 
somewhat novel mode of distributing Christmas gifts to 
those who may be wilHng, for once, to depart from the 
good old usages : the stocking hung beside the chimney, 
the Christmas tree, and the more modern Christmas pie. 
Here are directions for the benefit of those who have 
never attended "cobweb parties." 

Procure as many balls of string as there are members 
in the family. They should be of different colors, that 
each one may follow his string with ease, and of the same 
length, that all may finish winding together. 

The presents intended for each person are to be tied 
to one particular string, the heaviest or largest to be 
fastened to one end and placed at the back of the room 
set apart for the maze. Then carry the string across the 
room, tie something else to it, and secure the string to a 
chair, the window-fastener, the curtain-rod, or anything 
else. 

Pass the string back and forth, up and down, through, 
behind, under, over, and across the furniture of the room 
in every conceivable manner, until the other end is 
reached, displaying as much as possible all light and at- 
tractive articles, while the heavier ones, of course, must 
rest on something solid. A number of little things, like 
shaving-paper balls, scent-sachets, lace bags tied witli 
bright ribbon and filled with candy, and glittering cornu- 
copias, should be attached to the string as it is passed 
over the chandelier. 

The hiding of small and valuable things, such as rings, 
pins, and other pieces of jewelry, thimbles, money, etc., 
under the sofa cushion, behind a book, or concealed in 
any other way, gives additional interest to the maze, as 
the recipient comes upon them unexpectedly. 

Proceed in a similar manner with the other strings, 

is6 



taking care as before to show the pretty things, to avoid 
snarls, and to make as many angles as you can. 

The free ends of the strings should have spools or 
reels fastened to them, to wind the strings on as fast as 
disentangled, and should be placed near the door. 

Mottoes or quotations referring to the gifts add much 
to the amusement when they are found just before seeing 
the objects to which they refer. 

When all is ready let the master or mistress of cere- 
monies precede the family, singing or saying the old song, 

"'Will you walk into my parlor?' said the spider to 
the fly ; 
' 'Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy ; 
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair. 

And I have many pretty things to show you when 
you 're there. 
Will you, will you, will you 
Walk in. Mister Fly ? '" 

The door of the room should be opened just as the 
leader finishes the song ; and after a short time for 
inspection he or she should place the reels in the hands 
of the right persons and bid them take all they find as 
they follow tlie threads through the labyrinth. 

Anna E. F. Anderson. 



Omaha, Nek. 

Dear St. Nicholas : We have taken you from the 
newsdealers for the last four or five years, but have 
never written to you. We think you are the best maga- 
zine published. 

We have lived in four cities in the last t« o years — 
Denver, Hutcliinson (Kansas), Kansas City, and (Jmalia; 
l)ut I think Hutchinson is the most interesting in some 
ways. 

Hutchinson is the largest salt center in Kansas, and 
one of the largest in the United States. The way they 
get their salt is different, 1 think, from the New York way. 
They do not mine it here, but drill for it. I think they 



THE LETTER-BOX. 



157 



have to drill about three hundred feet before they strike 
the bed. Then they pump water down the hole and it 
comes up as a strong brine, which they guide into large 
evaporating-pans about eighteen by thirty-six feet wide, 
and about a foot deep. Under those j^ans are immense 
furnaces which heat the pans and evaporate the brine. 
Then the salt is raked out on slanting boards so that the 
water can drij) back into the pan. Then what water is 
left in the jian is run out and fresh brine let in. After the 
salt is dry it is taken away in large hand-carts to a place 
they call the dump, where it is packed in barrels and 
shipped away. Some of it is put into immense sifters, 
and made into table salt. Most of the salt-works have 
their own barrel-factory ; one, I think, has at least twenty 
coopers. There are about fifteen different salt-wells 
tliere, and one company owns about half of them. 

I hope this will interest most of your readers. I enjoy 
the " Letter-box " department very much. 

Your constant reader, A. H . 



ABOUT CH^RI. 

A TRUE STORY, BY ETHEL G . 

There was once a little girl, who had a canary given 
her on her tenth birthday. She named him Cheri, be- 
cause he was so dear. In the summer-time, when Lucy 
(the little girl's name) went away, she gave the bird 
to her friend. They said that he never sang; but when 
Lucy came for him he began at once to sing. In the day- 
time we i^ut him on the piazza, and in the night we bring 
him in. Well, one night he went on his swing; it was 
getting late, so Lucy brought him in. Each night he did 
the same. He has had a great many incidents. Once 
he put his head through the wires ; we had a hard time 
getting it out. I have forgotten the others. We have 
had him for six years ; he is also very tame. 



Streatham Hill, London, England. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am an English girl, nearly 
twelve years old. I have read all the letters in your '• Let- 
ter-box," but have not seen many from " Dear old dingy 
London," as one of your readers calls it. I had you for 
a birthday present from my cousin in New York last 
January, and am greatly interested in all vour tales. I 
tiiink " ( lian Ok " and "The Fortunes of Toby Tratford " 
are beautiful, but I am so very sorry I have not read the 
beginning of the latter; it was l)egun in Novend)er, and 
I did not have your magazine then. Perhaps you would 
like to hear how I spent my midsummer holidays. \\'e 
went to Ostend, a well-known seaside place in Helgium. 
We stayed there five weeks, during which time I enjoyed 
myself immensely. In the Kursaal there were children's 
]iarties every Tuesday. I went four times ; tliey give pres- 
ents there. Once I had a lovely bunch of flowers, an- 
other time I liada little tlag, the third time 1 had a Japanese 
lantern, and tiie last time I iiad a palm fan with llowers 
stuck on it. I also went in for some children's races 
while I was there, but I did not get a prize, as I arrived 
third, and they gave only first and second jirizes. 
From vour interested reader, 

Vkra M . 



HiAKKll/, IkANCE. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I live in New \ork in the 
winter, but this summer I have been traveling through 
Furo])e with my cousin and tutor. I am now in a jiiace 
calle(l Hiarritz, which is located in the southern part of 
France and on the Hay of Hiscay. I think that we are 
the only .\inericans here. Thev are niostiv all l-'rencli 
and Spanisii. There is a beautiful beach here, and the 



people bathe a great deal. There are some rocks out in 
the water about two thousand feet away which break the 
force of the waves and make the beach very safe. As I 
was in Austria on the 4th of July this year, I was very 
much disappointed in not having the lovely fireworks 
that we see at home. But last night they had here some 
beautiful ones on the water, which were lovely. I always 
take you at home, but this summer, as I have been Irav- 
elin-g, I have not had all your nice numbers. But the 
other day I obtained your September number, and have 
enjoyed it very much. 

Yours affectionately RoBlNSON N . 



THE OLD APPLE-TREE. 

See the blossoms on the bough. 
They will soon be apples now. 
And then they will be put in pie 
Which you can eat and so can I. 

But if you eat too much of pie 

You will be ill and then you '11 cry ; 

But if you wait a little while 

^'ou will be well and then you '11 smile. 

But very much of apple-pie 
Might make you ill enough to die, 
That is your own fault, you see, 
So don't you blame the apple-tree. 

By Elfrida R 

(Seven and a half years old.) 



New Orleans. 
Dear St. Nich- 
olas : I have 
taken you about 
three years, but 
have never writ- 
ten to you be- 
fore. I like you 
very much, espe- 
cially the stories 
about boys. I send 
you a little sketch 
I made, for I love 
drawing. 

Your loving 
reader, 
K. n. |.; . 




Boston, Mass. 
Dear St. Nich- 
olas : Would vou 
like to hear of a 
visit 10 a prison ? 
Well, I will tell you about one we made. One day 
last summer, si.\ of us drove awav from the farm, in 
a hay-wagon, which we called our "barouche." The 
prison was six miles awav, so it took pretty long to 
get there. When we reached it we went in and en- 
tered our names in a large book and ])ai<i fifteen cents. 
We were then directed to a guide, who beg.in to show 
us llie sights. We first went into the tailor-shop where 
they made the prisoners' clothes, the colors being red 
and l)Iack ; then we passed on into the chapel, which is 
a fair-sized room with a number of settees and a plat- 
fornj in it. From there we went into the workshop 
where they made boots, each man having his own work 
to do, and a guard sitting up in a chair to see that all 



I5S 



THE LETTER-BOX. 



was right. Next we passed through the court into a 
building where the cells were ; we were showed into one, 
there being a cot, table, !am|3, papers, books, and mottos ; 
at some doors there was a mug and some bread. We 
were shown the things that they make, as, toothpick 
charms, boxes, and many other pretty things made from 
bones. We waited a few minutes to see them file into 
dinner. A large gong was struck, and each man stopped 
work, washed his face and hands, combed his hair, and 
put on his jacket, and then formed in line in the court- 
yard ; it took some lime, but at last all was ready, and 
they marched in lock -step by the kitchen where there 
was a hole made through the wall, and from the inside 
the cook passed their dinner, which consisted of some 
meat and potatoes on a tin plate; then they went on to 
their cells where each had to eat alone. Don't you think 
that is sad ? Your loving reader, 

Mary I. W . 



Oldberrow, Henley in Arden, 
Warwickshire. 
My Dear St. Nicholas : I have never seen in your 
" Letter-box " a letter from this part of England, so I 
thought I would write to you. 1 like you very much, 
and mother likes your puzzles. I am a girl of ten and 
I have subscribed to you for seven years. 

I was born in Cairo and I go to school in Paris. I 
had the measles there, and as mother was doing a word- 
square we found the name of my great-uncle who was 
President of the United States. 

Your loving reader, L. V. D. N . 



A friend of St. Nicholas, who read the story of the 
Century Cat in St. Nicholas for August, 1891, sends us 
a sketch of another interesting cat whose home is in the 
Palace Hotel in San Francisco : 

Our Palace cat is not of high degree like the Century 
pet. Indeed, her color and form indicate only too 
plainly her humble origin. She came to the hotel about 
a year ago, I am told, looked carefully around, and, being 
pleased with the prospect, decided to take up her quarters 
here. In return for her board and lodging she caught 
stray mice. 

She has no pretty collar. Occasionally some one dec- 
orates her with a bit of ribbon, evidently rescued for that 
purpose from some waste-basket. Last week she wore 
a yellow piece stamped " Havana." Blue suits her best, 
though, as she is gray and white. I don't know her true 
name. Every bell-boy calls her what he pleases. Our 
boy has christened her " Minnie." 

A short time ago a letter-chute was put in the hotel, 
that guests might post their letters without having to go 
to tlie mail-box in the office. This chute from ceiling to 
floor is of glass, so if any of the letters are caught on 
their way down, they may be seen and made to " move 
on." Minnie cannot understand what it is that rushes 
down so white, and with such a hiss, behind the glass, 
and she sits for hours in front of the chute trying to 
solve the mystery. When she hears the rustle of an 
approaching letter she crouches on the floor and springs 
at it as it flashes past. Failure to catch it only makes 
her more persistent, and she is on duty, on one floor or 
another, nearly all the time. If one goes in the hall with 
a letter to post, and she is near enough to hear or see, 
she rushes to her favorite position, quite sure that this 
time she will catch the elusive and mysterious mouse. 



All the guests know her, and all pet her. I often 
pet her in the most approved manner. She tolerates it 
for a time, but as soon as she can escape, without being 
too rude, she leaves me and returns to her old place at 
the chute. 

She is a great favorite with the children, who are al- 
ways willing to post letters when Minnie is near. 

I am not a child, though I read my St. Nicholas 
every month, and I confess to posting empty envelops 
just to see Minnie crouch and spring as they pass down. 



San Jose, Cal. 

Dear Letter-box : I will try to tell about our trip 
up Mount Hamilton to the Lick Observatory. 

We started out on Saturday morning and drove to 
Siiiith's Creek, and there rested and had a nice warm 
dinner, and then went up the mountain. 

On arriving at the summit we walked the halls, looking 
at the pictures of the sun, moon, planets, and stars. 

Soon Professor Campbell came in and he took us up 
on the roof to see the sunset and the beautiful view of 
San Francisco Bay and Santa Clara Valley. 

We next went down to see the tomb in which rests the 
body of James Lick, the founder. 

Then we were taken into the big dome and saw the 
clockwork that runs the big- telescope, also the spec- 
troscope, which Professor Campbell explained so thor- 
oughly that even I understood it. 

We then looked through the large glass and saw the 
moon. If any of your readers wish to see how the moon 
looks through the glass if they have no telescope to look 
through, just let them find Professor Holden's article in 
the July Century. The moon looks just like that pic- 
ture, only you cannot see so much of it at once. You 
can only see one one-hundred-and-fiftieth part of the 
moon at one time. 

We next spent a pleasant half-hour with Professor and 
Mrs. Burnham, and met their three little daughters. 
Professor Burnham showed us the earthquake-register. 
He also showed us the big clock that furnishes the time 
for the Pacific coast. 

Next we went to the Meridian-Circle Room. This deli- 
cate instrument contains sixteen telescopes, and Profes- 
sor Schaeberle uses it to find the exact position of the 
stars. I will not try to describe it, as I know I cannot do 
it justice. 

After that we went to the small dome and saw Jupiter 
with its cloud-belts and four moons. As I started down 
from the steps on which I had been standing while look- 
ing through the glass I saw two fixed stars seeming to be 
about as big as Jupiter's moons, but Professor Barnard 
said if they were as near us as Jupiter is they would burn 
us all up. 

We then had our moonlight drive home, which we en- 
joyed very much. 

From your little friend, Bessie T . 



We thank the young friends whose names follow for 
pleasant letters received from them : Florrie S., N. L. 
A., D. H. D., Jenny S. H., Helen I), and Julia W. H., 
Annie, Agnes, Sidney, Hattie O. S., Gerald I)., George 
K., K. W. F., Susan W. F., Marie and A. L., Queen 
H. and Gladys H., Portia M. D., Ella J. E., Edyth P. 
J., Maude v., Anita G., Lydia K., Maude L., M. M. T., 
J. L. F., Linnetta F., Julia B. H., Anne Elizabeth D., 
Bessie W., John G., Helen G. E.,E. K. 



THE RIDDLE. BOX 




ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN 

Diamond, i. M. 2. Map. 3 ^'arol. 4. Martial. 5- Martin- 
mas. 6. Pointed. 7. Lamed. 8. Lad. 9. S. 

Diagonal Plzzle. Diagonals, New York. Cross-words : i. Nour- 
ish. 2. Detract. 3. Bewitch. 4- Players. 5- Promote. 6. Prepare. 
7. Derrick. 

Word-squares. L i. Talc. 2. Agio. 3. Limn. 4- Cone. 
IL I. Sates. 2. Adust. 3. Tutti. 4- Estop. 5- ^fpe- 

Zigzags. "The Golden Dustman." i. Teal. 2 Shop. 3- Beet. 
4. Prig. 5. Sloe. 6. Ally. 7- Dial. 8. Gear. 9. Link. 10 Shad. 
.,. Chub 12. Espy. 13- Toss. 14. Emit. 15. Slab. 16. Kiln. 

A Triangle. From i to 10, homesteads; 11 to 19, good cheer. 
1 H ; 2. 19, or: 3to 18, moe; 410 i7,eme: 5 to 1°, sloth ; 6 to 15. 
tenrec: 7 to 14, emerald: 8 to 13, arpeggio; 9 to 12, duodecimo: 
10 to II, sustaining. 

An Eighteenth Centlry Plzzle. Cross-words: i.Washlward. 
2. Dwellings. 3. Teaspoons. 4. Demijohns. 5 Hoofprint. 6 foun- 
tains. 7. Musicians. 8. Palanquin. 9. Vegetable. 10. Dog-kennel. 
II. Ostriches. 12. Marigolds. 

Word-building. 
dra, cathedral. 



E, re, ear, race, cader, arcade, charade, cathe- 



THE NOVEMBER NUMBER. 

Rimed Primal Acrostic. Initials, WilUam Cowpcr Cross- 
words: I. Waterioo. 2. Ireland. 3. Leonidas. 4 Laurel- wreath. 
S Israel. 6. -Msace. 7. Milton. 8. Cleopatra. 9. Ohio. 10. W ash- 
ington. II. Palatine. 12. Emerson. 13. Rubens. 

Pi. Again the leaves come fluttering down, 
Slowly, silently, one by one, 
Scarlet and crimson, and gold and brown. 

Willing to fall, for their work is done. 
And once again comes the dreamy haze. 

Draping the hills with its filmy blue. 
J^nd veiling the sun, whose tender rays 
With mellowed light come shimmering through. 

Double Acrostic. Primals, Victoria : finaU, Tennyson, 
words: i. Verdict. 2. Ignoble. ?. Citizen. 4. Torsion. 
tor>-. 6. Rameses. 7. lachimo. 8. .\rraign. 

A Literary Numerical Enigma. 

He who, from zone to zone, 
Guides through the boundless sky thy cert.-un flight. 
In the long way that I must tread alone 
Will lead my steps arighL 



Cross- 
c. Ora- 



sho^^dd^^edTs/=^^^I^^^iie^^^^ 

ANSWERS TO ALL THE PuzzLES ,. THE SEPTEMBER N-.B-w«e received^ t^foreSep^^^^^^ l^^^^'-^-!^ubent."Brn" y- 

"'^ ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE SEPTEMBER NuMBER Were received, Wore SeP-nil^r isth f^m .'Dai^^^ 

Ion." I -"Admiral," i -" Cantaloupes," i -J. .■^., Jr., '^- f, <^h' =; ^; J*^^;^^^ 

Judy." I -" The Petcrkins," i . - Elaine and Grace S 2 - Ada Hoy le, ' " ^^J"'=>^^^;^^;, V Stevens 10 - Constance and Kllenor. ■ - 



Katie Mantner, 4. 



RHOMBOID. 



2. A sylvan deity. 
5. .\ surgical con- 



ACROSS: I. The act of seeking. 
3. Moderately warm. 4. .\ fruit, 
trivancc. 

UowNW.VRiJ : I. .\ letter. 2. .\ pronoun. 3. To con- 
sume. 4. To check. 5. Emblems. 6. To stir up. 7. -^ 
small spot. 8. A word of denial. 9. A letter. 

'^ M. A. s. 

I)OUIII>K ZIGZ.VG. 



of Italy, about six miles from Guastalia. 8. Capable of 
being entertained. 9. A boaster. 10. Accumulaiuig. 
From I to 10, a name given to December 25>th ; Irom 
II to 20, the patron saint of boys, frank snkli.INC. 



Cross-words : 
3. Part of a fish. 



HOl'U-GLASS. 

I. Soft and weak. 2. Indicates. 
4. A Koman numeral. 5. To peti- 
7- 



1 1 



I. 



'3 

4 14 . 

. . 5 '-> 

.6 if' 

7 • '7 

.8 18 

. . 9 '9 

10 20 



Cross-words: i. Gathers. 2. Garlands. 3. Con- 
trary to law. 4. One of the Muses. 5. One of a sect 
among the ancient Jews. 6. Supplicated. 7. A village 



tion. 6. To forebode evil. 7. A kind of woolen cloth. 
Centrals, reading downward, a color. 

.ACROSTIC. 

Cross-words (of equ-il lengths : i. The chocobte 
tree. 2. Lofty. 3. Cleared land. 4- A pkice in Eng- 
land noted for its races. 5. Having a shape resembling 
that of an egg. 6. A maik of punctuation. 7. A mourn- 
ful or plaintive poem. 8. A quick species of dance. 
Q A coral island. lO. An eve. II. A large and bright 
constellation. 12. An aquatic plant found in ctrtain 
tropical countries. 13. A well-known fruit-tree. U- t^'nf 
of the Muses. 15. The circumference of .tnything. It.. A 
rapacious quadruped. 17. To endeavor. 

When the forc-oing wor.ls have been rightly guessed, 
and placed one below the other, the second row of let- 
ters, reading downward, will be found to be three Latin 
words. They f-rm the motto of one of the L niicd States. 
What is the State, the motto, and its translation ? 



159 



i6o 



THE RIDDLE-BOX. 





In casement. 2. A 
3. A feminine name. 
4. An instrument for smoothing 
clothes. 5. A festival time. 6. 
Made of clay. 7. Dwelling-places. 
8. A feminine nickname. 9. In 
casement. 

II. I. In casement. 2. A 
pronoun. 3. To fasten. 4. Ex- 
pedites. 5. A plant used for deco- 
ration. 6. Directed. 7. To enroll. 
8. Turf. 9. In casement. 

F. s. F. 

COMBINATION PUZZLE. 

In each of the following sentences 
a word is concealed, the definition of 
which will be found in the same sen- 
tence. When these are rightly selected and placed one 
below the other, the primals and finals, when read in 
connection, will name a substance used for architectural 
decorations. 

1. At the hospital Clara saw a mineral. 

2. I bought a leech of Henry because he explained to 
me the meaning of reverberated sound. 

3. She tried an ecru stain to cover up the red crust. 

4. I ran to tell you that the man is commencing to rave. 

5. Do you think Ann a good name for a girl? 

The primals and finals of the foregoing double acros- 
tic may be found in the following 

DOUBLE CROSS-WORD ENIGMA: 

1. In teach, not in learn ; 

2. In love, not in spurn ; 

3. In rat, not in mouse ; 

4. In roast, not in souse ; 

5. In Nathan, not in Nell ; 

That is all I have to tell ; 

For the whole, you understand, 

Is something made of earth and sand. 

"CYRIL DEANE." 
ANAGRAM. 

A distinguished man of letters : 
Whole random pearls. 

beheadings. 

I. I. Behead a punctuation mark, and leave turmoil. 
2. Behead a college, and leave a beverage. 3. Behead a 
grain, and leave to freeze. 4. Behead frank, and leave 
to coop. 5. Behead part of a neck, and leave an animal. 

The beheaded letters will spell the name of an English 
poet. 

II. I. Behead to frolic, and leave to put in motion. 
2. Behead lifts, and leave part of a roof. 3. Behead to 
stand as an equivalent, and leave tenor. 4. Behead treat- 
ment, and leave sapient. 5. Behead a sudden noise, and 



leave foolhardy. 6. Behead a deep 
and gloomy place, and leave a riddle. 
7. Behead an officer of an English 
forest, and leave vexation. 

The beheaded letters will spell 
the name of an English poet. 

PI. 



L. AND E. 



Hape pu eht rief rome reelchy, — 
Ew'll hial eht wen raye alyre, 
Eht lod oen hsa goen rifayl, — 

A htrig dogo reay adn rute ! 
Ew'ev dah moes panstale slambre, 
Dan rymer starsmich bolsmag, 
Dna seros thiw oru smerblab, 

Dieau, dol reay, eduia ! 

DOUBLE ACKOSTIC. 

My primals name a kind of watch, and my finals a 
kind of rose. 

Cross-words (of equal length) : i. Appointed as a 
substitute or agent. 2. A prominent character in one 
of Shakspere's plays. 3. Brushing lightly on the surface. 

s. s. 
A LAMP PUZZLE. 



* 

* • • • 

* • • • 

* • • • 

• • # • • 

* 

* • • • 



Cross-words: i. A small snake. 2. One of a certain 
tribe of Indians. 3. A pouch. 4. Despises. 5. Spiral 
scrolls used in architecture. 6. That which drives for- 
ward. 7. A name by which giraffes are sometimes called. 
8. A male relative. 9. A horned animal. 10. Active. 
II. Fiction. 12. Swift in motion. 13. A segment of 
a circle. 14. To cut. 15. Banterings. 

The central letters, reading downward, will spell an 
object which throws light on many. 

" CORNELIA BLIMBER." 



THE DE VINNE PRESS, NEW YORK. 




THE LITTLE MAID OF SPAIN. 

FROM A PAINTING, BY AN UNKNOWN ARTIST, IN THE POSSESSION OF ALEXANDER \V. DRAKE. 



ST. NICHOLAS. 



Vol. XIX. 



JANUARY, 1892. 

Copyright, 1891, by The Centlry Co. All rights reserved. 



No. 3- 



THE LITTLE UA\D OF SPAIN. 



Bv Helen Gr.ay Cone. 



Tiny, stately maid of Spain, 
With your formal fan and train ! 
Stranj^e the spell the painter cast, 
Strong to make you live and last ! 
Some one, Sweet, who bore your name, 
Changed and grew, as people do ; 
Had adventures gay or tragic; 
Died, one day — yet here are you, 
IJv the wand-like brush's magic 
Held among us, just the same ! 
On your brow the same soft curls, 
On your wrist the changeless pearls. 
In the gems the moveless gleams. 
In your eyes the selfsame dreams ; 
What a fairy-tale it seems ! 

(.)h, iliai he who saw you thus, — 
Seized and sent you down to us. 
On his canvas limned with skill 



Tender curves of throat and cheek, — 
Might have added one thing still. 
Made the grave lips ope and speak ! 
For I fain had heard it told 
What the world was like around you. 
That old world of cloth-of-gold 
Where the cunning painter found you. 
Tell me how your time was spent : 

Had you any playmates then ; 

Or were all who came and went 

Ceremonious dames and men ? 

Had you some tall hound to pet — 

Some caged bird, with eyes of jet ? 

As vou moved, a soul apart. 

Through that world of plume and glove, 

Could your precious little heart 

Fix on anything to love ? 

— Sober, silent you remain. 

Tiny, stately maid of Spain ! 







103 



THE ADMIRAL'S CARAVAN. 



By Charles E. Carryl. 



Chapter III. " So are we," said the Admiral, cheerfully. 

" We 're a Caravan, you know." 

THE CRUISE OF THE SIDEBOARD. ,, ^ r- -. „ i ■ j -r^ i 

" A Caravan ? exclaimed Dorothy, very 

Dorothy felt very ridiculous. The stork much surprised, 
ferryman suddenly reappeared, and she could " I beheve I said ' Caravan' quite distinctly," 
see him running along the roofs of the houses, said the Admiral in an injured tone, appealing 
and now and then stopping to stare down at to the rest of the party ; but no one said any- 
her from the eaves as she sailed by, as if she thing except the Highlander, who hastily con- 
were the most extraordinary spectacle he had suited his watch and then exclaimed " Hurrah ! " 
ever seen, as indeed she probably was. rather doubtfully. 

Presently the street ended at a great open "I understood what you said," exclaimed 

space where the water spread out in every di- Dorothy, " but I don't think I know exactly 

rection, like a lake. The day seemed to be what you mean." 

breaking, and it was quite light ; and as the " Never mind what he means," shouted Sir 

sideboard sailed out into the open water, Doro- Walter. " T/ia^ ^s of no consequence." 

thy caught sight of something like a fat-looking " No consequence ! " exclaimed the Admiral, 

boat, floating at a Httle distance and slowly drift- flaring up. " Why, I mean more in a minute 

ing toward her. As it came nearer it proved to than you do in a week ! " 

be Mrs. Peevy's big umbrella upside down, with "You say more in a minute than anybody 

a little party of people sitting around on the could mean in a month," retorted Sir Walter, 

edge of it with their feet against the handle, and flourishing his tobacco-plant, 

to Dorothy's amazement she knew every one of " / can talk a year without meaning a/fj- 

them. There was the Admiral, staring about ////V/^^," said the Highlander, proudly; but no one 

with his spy-glass, and Sir Walter Rosettes, care- took any notice of this remark, which of course 

fully carrying his tobacco-plant as if it were a served him right. 

nosegay, and the Highlander, with his big watch The Admiral stared at Sir Walter for a mo- 
dangling in the water over the side of the um- ment through his spy-glass, and then said very 
brella; and last, there was the little Chinese firmly, "You 're a pig!" at which the High- 
mandarin clinging to the top of the handle as if lander again consulted his watch, and then 
he were keeping a lookout from the masthead, shouted " Two pigs ! " with great enthusiasm, as 

The sideboard brought up against the edge if that were the time of day. 

of the umbrella with a soft little bump, and the " And you 're another," said Sir Walter, an- 

Admiral, hurriedly pointing his spy-glass at grily. " If it comes to that, we 're all pigs." 

Dorothy so that the end of it almost touched " Dear me ! " cried Dorothy, quite distressed 

her nose, exclaimed excitedly, " There she is ! I at all this. " What makes you all quarrel so ? 

can see her quite plainly," and the whole party You ought to be ashamed of yourselves." 

gave an exultant shout. "We 're all ashamed of one another, if ///a/ 

" How are you getting on now? " inquired Sir will do any good," said the Admiral. 

Walter, as if he had had her under close obser- " And, you see, that gives each of us two 

vation for a week at least. people to be ashamed of," added Sir Walter, 

" I 'm getting on pretty well," said Dorothy, with an air of great satisfaction, 

mournfully. " I believe I 'm crossing a ferry." " But that is n't what I mean at all," said 

164 



THE ADMIRALS CARAVAN. 



165 



Dorothy. " I mean that each one of you ought '• I should think not ! " said Sir Walter, in- 
to be ashamed oi himself . " dignanlly. " I 'd as lief go to sea in a toast- 
" Why, we 're each being ashamed of by two rack. Why tlon't you bring her head up to 




"the admiral exclaimed: 'there she is! i can see her quite plainly! 



people, already," said the Admiral, peevishly. 
" 1 should think ///<?/ was enough to satisfy 
anybody." 

" But that is n't the same thing," insisted 
Dorothy. " Each particular him ought to be 
ashamed of each particular self." This sounded 
very fine indeed, and Dorothy felt so pleascil 
with herself for having said it that she went on 
to say, " And the truth is, you all argue pre- 
cisely like a lot of school-children." 

Now, Dorothy herself was only about four 
feet high, but she said this in such a superior 
manner that the entire Caravan stareil at her 
with great atliniration for a moment, and then 
began to give a little cheer; but just at this 
instant the umbrella made a great plunge, as if 
somebody had given il a push, and the whole 
l)arty tumbled into the bottom of il like a lot 
of dolls. 

" Wliat kind of a boat do vou call this ? " 
shouted Sir Walter, as they all scrambled to 
their feet and clung desperately to the handle. 

"It 's a paragondola," said the .\dmiral, who 
had suddenly become very pale. " You see, it 
is n't exactly like an ordinnrv shi|)." 



the wind ? " he shouted, as the paragondola 
took another plunge. 

'• I can't ! " cried the Admiral, despairingly ; 
** she has n't got any head." 

" Then put me ashore ! " roared Sir Walter, 
furiously. 

Now, this was all very well for Sir \\'alter 
to say, but by this time the paragondola was 
racing through the water at such a rate that 
even the sideboard could hardly keep up with 
it ; anil the waves were tossing about in such 
wild confusion that it was perfectly ridiculous 
for any one to talk about going ashore. In 
fat t, it was a most exciting moment. The air 
was filled with flying spray, and the paragon- 
dola dashed ahead faster and faster, until at 
last Dorothy couKl no longer hear the sound 
of the voices, and she could just see that they 
were throwing the big watch overboard as if to 
lighten the ship. Then she caught sight of 
the Highlander trying to climb up the handle, 
and Sir Walter frantically beating him on the 
back with the tobacco-plant, and the next mo- 
ment there was another wild plunge and the 
paragondola and Caravan vanished from sight. 



i66 



THE ADMIRALS CARAVAN. 



[Jan. 



Chapter IV. 



TREE-TOP COUNTRY. 



It was a very curious thing that the storm 
seemed to follow the Caravan as if it were a 
private affair of their own, and the paragondola 
had no sooner disappeared than Dorothy found 
herself sailing along as quietly as if such a 
thing as bad weather had never been heard 
of. But there was something very lonely about 
the sideboard now, as it went careering through 
the water, and she felt quite disconsolate as she 
sat on the little shelf and wondered what had 
become of the Caravan. 

" If Mrs. Peevy's umbrella shuts up with 
them inside of it," she said mournfully to her- 
self, " I 'm sure I don't know what they '11 do. 
It 's such a stiff thing to open that it must be 
perfectly awful when it shuts up all of a sudden," 
and she was just giving a little shudder at the 
mere thought of such a thing, when the side- 
board bumped up against something and she 
found that it had run into a tree. In fact, she 
found that she had drifted into a forest of enor- 
mous trees, growing in a most remarkable man- 
ner straight up out of the lake, and all covered 
with leaves as if it had been midsummer instead 
of being, as it certainly was, Christmas day. 

As the sideboard slowly floated along 
through this strange forest, Dorothy pre- 
sently discovered that each tree had a 
little door in it, close to the water's 
edge, with a small platform be 
fore it by way of a door- 
step, as if the people 
who lived in the trees 
had a fancy for going 
about visiting in boats. 
But she could n't help 
wondering who in the 
world, or, rather, who in 
the trees, the people went 
to see, for all the httle doors were 
shut as tight as wax, and had notices 
posted up on them, such as " No admittance," 
" Go away," " Gone to Persia," and many others, 
all of which Dorothy considered extremely rude, 
especially one notice which read, " Beware of 
the Pig," as if the person who lived in that 
particular tree was too stingy to keep a dog. 



Now all this was very distressing, because, in 
the first place, Dorothy was extremely fond of 
visiting, and, in the second place, she was get- 
ting rather tired of sailing about on the side- 
board ; and she was therefore greatly pleased 
when she presently came to a door without any 
notice upon it. There was, moreover, a bright 
little brass knocker on this door, and as this 
seemed to show that people were expected to 
call there if they felt like it, she waited until 
the sideboard was passing close to the platform 
and then gave a little jump ashore. 

The sideboard took a great roll backward 
and held up its front feet as if expressing its 
surprise at this proceeding, and as it pitched 
forward again the doors of it flew open, and a 
number of large pies fell out into the water and 
floated away in all directions. To Dorothy's 
amazement, the sideboard immediately started 
off after them, and began pushing them toge- 
ther, like a shepherd's dog collecting a flock of 




DOKOTHV MAKIiS A CAM, IN THK TRKK-TOr COUNTRY. 

runaway sheep; and then, having got them all 
together in a compact bunch, sailed solemnly 
away, shoving the pies ahead of it. 



i892.] THE admiral's CARAVAN. 167 

Dorothy now looked at the door again, and Dorothy was looking about in great perplex- 
saw that it was standing partly open. The ity, when she suddenly discovered that there 
doorway was only about as high as her shoul- was a bed standing, in a lonely way, out in the 
der, and as she stooped down and looked field. It was altogether the strangest-looking 
through it she saw there was a small winding bed she had ever seen, for it was growing di- 
stairway inside, leading up through the body of rectly out of the floor in a twisted-up fashion, 
the tree. She listened for a moment, but every- like the grape-vine chairs in Uncle Porticle's 
thing was perfectly quiet inside, so she squeezed garden ; but the oddest thing about it was that 
in through the doorway and ran up the stairs it had leaves sprouting out of its legs, and great 
as fast as she could go. pink blossoms growing on the bedposts like 
The stairway ended at the top in a sort of the satin bows on Dorothy's little bed at the 
trap-door, and Dorothy popped up through it Blue Admiral Inn. All this was so remarkable 
hke a jack-in-the-box ; but instead of coming that she went closer to look at it ; and as she 
out, as she expected, among the branches of came up alongside the bed she was amazed to 
the tree, she found herself in a wide, open field see that the Caravan, all three of them, were 
as flat as a pancake, and with a small house lying in it in a row, with their eyes closed as if 
standing far out in the middle of it. It was a they were fast asleep. This was such an un- 
bright and sunny place, and quite like an ordi- expected sight that Dorothy exclaimed, " Jim- 
nary field in every way except that, in place of iny ! " which wns a word she used only on 
grass, it had a curious floor of branches, closely particular occasions; and the Caravan opened 
braided together like the bottom of a market- their eyes and stared at her like so many owls. 
basket; but, as this seemed natural enough, con- "Why, what are you all doing here? " she 
sidering that the field was in the top of a tree, said; at which the Admiral sat up in bed, and 
Dorothy hurried away to the little house with- after taking a hurried look at her through his 
out giving the floor a second thought. spy-glass, said, " Shipwrecked I" in a solemn 

As she came up to the house she saw that it voice and then lay down again, 
was a charming litde cottage with vines trained "Did the paragonorer shut up with you?" 

about the latticed windows, and with a sign inquired Dorothy, anxiously, 
over the door, reading — " Yes, ma'am," said the Admiral. 

" And squashed us," added Sir Walter. 

" Like everything," put in the Highlander. 

" I was afraid it would," said Dorotliy, sor- 

„T 1 .1. 1 r .. rowfully ;" I s'pose it was something like being 

" I suppose they 11 take me for a customer, .-^ * . „ 

, • J , 1 ■ , 1 1 /■ 11 1 at sea m a cornucopia, 

she said, looking rather doubtfully at the sign, ^ '^ . , ..... 

, , , , Ti T . "■ Does a cornucopia have things in it that 

"and I have nt got any money. But 1 m . , , ^ „■■,..■■,,. \ 

,. , , - , , „ , pinch vour legs ? inquired Sir u alter, 

verv little and I wont stay very long, she * ^^: „ ■ , ,^ , 

,; , , ^ , ,r J u " Oh, no," said Dorothv. 

added, by way of excusing herself, and as she „„ . ■,-,■• « „ • 1 ..• 

■ , ,. , r, , f ,1 1 " llien It was nt like it at all," sand Sir 

said this she softly i)usheti open the iloor and ,,, , ... 

,„,■'' . , Walter, peevishly, 

went in. lo her great surprise, there was no _ ' , ^ 1 i-, • .1 • 1 1 . 1 

. . , , , , , , "It was about as much like it, said the .Vd- 

insule to the liouse, and she came out into the 

field again on the other side of the door, 'i'he 



THE OUTSIDE INN 



miral, "as a pump is like a post-captain"; and 

,, , • ■ , , • , 1 he said tiiis in such a i)0.sitive way that Dor- 

wall on this side, however, was nicely papereil ,,••,,•, i- i • t r 

, , , . , . , , othy did n t like to contradict him. In fact 



and had pictures hanging on it, anil there was a 
notice pasted up beside the door, reading — 



she really diil n't know anything about the 
matter, so she merely said, as jjolitely as she 
could, " I don't think I know what a post-cap- 
tain is." 

'• I don't either," said the Admiral, promptly, 
as if the rest of the house had gone out for a "but I can tell you how they behave"; and 
walk, and might be expected back at any time, sitting up in bed, he recited these verses: 



THK INN-SIDE OUT 



i68 



THE ADMIRALS CARAVAN. 



[Jan. 




SIR PETER BOMBAZOO. 

Post-captaiii at the Needles and 

commander of a crew 
On the ''Royal Biddy" frigate 

was Sir Peter Bombazoo ; 
His mind was full of music, and 

his head was fill of tunes, 
And he cheerfully exhibited on 

pleasant afternoons. 

He could whistle on his fingers 

an invigorating reel. 
And could imitate a piper on the 

haJtdles of the wheel ; 
He could play in double octaves, 
too, all up and down the rail, 
Or rattle off a ro?ido on 
J J the bottom of a pail. 



Then porters with their packages, and 
bakers with their buns. 
And countesses in carriages, and gretiadiers with 

guns, 
And admirals and commodores arrived from near 

and far 
To listen to the music 
of this entertaitiing 
tar. 




When they heard the Captain humming, and 

beheld the dancing crew. 
The coinnunlorcs severely said, " Why, this will 

never do ! " 
And the admirals all hurried home, rcniarking, 

" This is most 
Extraordinary conduct for a captain at his 

post:' 

Then they sent some sailing-orders to Sir Peter, 

in a boat. 
And he did a little fifing on the edges of the note ; 



i3o2.] 



THE ADMIRALS CARAVAN. 



169 




• HE DID A LITTLE FIFING ON THE EDGES OF THE NOTE. 

But he read the sailin^^-orders, as, of course, he had to do, 
And removed the '^ J^oyal Biddy" to the Bay of Boohgabooh. 

Now, Sir Peter took it kindly, but it 's proper to explain 
He was sent to catch a pirate out upon the Spanish main ; 
And he played, with variations, an imaginary tune 
On the buttons of his waistcoat, like a jocular bassoon. 

Then a topman saw the Pirate come a-sailing in the bay. 
And reported to the Captain in the customary 2i>av. 
'* / 7/ receive him" said Sir Peter, " tcith a musical salute / " 
And he gave some imitations of a double-Jointed flute. 

Then the Hrate cried derisively, "/ 've heard that done before.'''^ 
And he hoisted up a banner emblematical of gore. 
But Sir Peter said serenely, " You may double-shot the guns 
While I sing my little ballad of 'The Butter on the Buns'" 

Then the Pirate banged Sir Peter and Sir Peter banged him back. 
And they banged aioay together as they took another tack. 
Then Sir Peter said politely, *•)<'// may board him, if you pUase." 
And he whistled, for a moment, in a dozen minor kns. 

Then the -Biddies " poured like hornets dincn upon the Pirate's deck, 
And Sir Peter caught the Prate and he took him by the neck. 
And remarked, '■'■ You must excuse me, but you acted like a brute 
When I gave my imitation of that double feinted flute." 

So they took that icicked Prate and they took his -wicked creio. 
And tied them up with doublr kuota in packages of t~wo; 



170 



THE ADMIRALS CARAVAN. 




"sir peter caught the pirate, and he took him by the neck." 

And Sir Peter kindly played them what he thought they \l rather like — 
' T was a rich diininuetido on the handle of a pike. 

Now admirals and commodores.^ in roivs npon the strand, 
Come to listen to Sir Peter as nnto a German band ; 
And he plays 7/pon a tea-pot that 's particularly sweet 
His latest composition — called " The Tooter of the PleetP 

" I think Sir Peter was perfectly grand ! " appeared under the bed with all possible 

said Dorothy, as the Admiral finished his despatch, 
verses, " he was so composed." " We are out, you know," said Dorothy to 

" So was the poetry," said the Admiral, herself, " because there 's no /'/. for us to be in " ; 

" It had to be composed, you know, or there and then she called out in a very loud voice, 

would n't have been any." " We 're all out in here!" which was n't exactly 

" That would have been fine ! " remarked the what she meant to say, after all. 
Highlander. But there was no answer, and she was just 

The Admiral got so red in the face at this, stooping down to call through the keyhole 

that Dorothy was quite alarmed; but just at when she saw that the wall-paper was nothing 

this moment there was a sharp rap at the door but a vine growing on a trellis, and the door 

and Sir Walter exclaimed, " That 'jr Bob Scarlet, only a little rustic gate leading through it. 

and here we are in his flower-bed ! " "And dear me! — where has the bed gone 

" Christopher Columbus ! " said the Admiral, to ? " she exclaimed, for where it had stood a 

" I never thought of that. Tell him we 're moment before there was a great mound of 

all out," said the Admiral to Dorothy in an waving lilies, and she found herself standing in 

agitated voice, and the whole Caravan dis- a beautiful garden. 

{To be continued.) 



WINTER FAIRIES. 







THE RUDDER. 



By Celia Thaxter. 



Of what are you thinking, my httle lad, with the honest eyes of blue, 
As you watch the vessels that slowly glide o'er the level ocean floor ? 

Beautiful, graceful, silent as dreams, they pass away from our view, 
And down the slope of the world they go, to seek some far-off shore. 

They seem to be scattered abroad by chance, to move at the breezes' will. 
Aimlessly wandering hither and yon, and melting in distance gray; 

But each one moves to a purpose firm, and the winds their sails that fill 
Like faithful servants speed them all on their appointed way. 

For each has a rudder, my dear little lad, with a stanch man at the wheel. 
And the rudder is never left to itself, but the will of the man is there ; 

There is never a moment, day or night, that the vessel does not feel 

The force of the purpose that shapes her course and the helmsman's watchful care. 

Some day you will launch your ship, my boy, on life's wide, treacherous sea, — 
Be sure your rudder is wrought of strength to stand the stress of the gale, 

And your hand on the wheel, don't let it flinch, whatever the tumult be, 
For the will of man, with the help of God, shall conquer and prevail. 




172 




By Edith M. Thomas. 



SoMK time you will come across 
Elfin jugglers in the moss. 
This will be the way they '11 look 
In their shady forest nook : 
Gray- green faces, gray-green hair, 
Gray-green are the clothes they wear. 
Some are short and some are tall, 
Light and nimble are they all, 
Nodding this way, nodding that — 
Pointed cap or plumed hat ; 
Now on tiptoe spinning round, 



Now with forehead to the ground ; 
Bowing last, their hands they kiss. 
But the strangest thing is this, 
Though you go and come again, 
In these postures they remain, 
And your movements never heed. 
Have you seen them ? — Then, indeed. 
You can say that you have been 
Where King Oberon and his Queen 
Oft in summer-time do go — 
To the elfin jugglers' show. 



WAR ELEPHANTS. 



Bv Charles Frederick Holder. 



H K back of an elephant opposing beasts, but to terrify and put men to 

would hardly be con- flight ; and that the huge animals untlerstood the 

siderctl a safe place in object of the fighting we have every reason to 

a modern battle. The believe. Elephants were then plentiful ; bands 

huge animal would be of thousands were not uncommon ; and a host 

riddled by bullets and of them, fitted with rich harness and trappings, 

round shot, and, far protected by shining annor, and bearing towers 

from being an object containing archers and slingers, must have made 

of terror, would be a magnificent and imposing spectacle, 

simply a target for the enemy. Exactly when the elephant was first used in 

In ancient times, long before the invention war is not known ; but we do know, from the 

of gunjiowder, the elejjhant corps was an im- writings of the historian Ctesias, that when 

portant feature of an army, and was relied upon Gyrus sent an expedition against the Derbices, 

not only to charge upon and trample down the their king, Armorxus, concealed an aimy of 

»73 




174 



WAR ELEPHANTS. 



[Jan. 



elephants in the forest. A sudden charge by 
these monsters utterly routed the cavalry of 
Cyrus. Ctesias also tells us that this Indian 
king went to war with ten thousand elephants. 
All this happened four hundred and fifty years 
before the Christian era; and how many years 
before this elephants were used in warfare we 
can only guess, Pliny and Arrian tell us of 
elephant armies numbering in one case five hun- 
dred thousand, and in another seven hundred 
thousand. These figures we may well doubt, 
though it is known that great numbers were 
employed by the Indian kings. 



' the huge creatures called 
These great animals, which stood 




A BRIDGE OF ELEPHANTS. (SEE NEXT PAGE.) 

Alexander was one of the first of the famous 
kings of history to tell of fighting against an 



elephant host. His invading army had reached 
the river Hydaspes, and as the warriors looked 
across they beheld the opposing army of King 
Porus, who had not only chariots and an enor- 
mous army, but 
elephants. 

on the farther river-bank shrieking and trum- 
peting, filled the soldiers of Alexander with 
terror and dismay. 

The two armies watched each other for sev- 
eral days; then Alexander succeeded in cross- 
ing the river, and the two forces drew up in 
line of battle. The Indian king placed his ele- 
phants in the front rank, 
.,-<. one hundred feet apart, 

thinking in this way so 
to frighten the horses of 
the foe that the entire 
army would be put to 
flight. Between the ele- 
phants were foot-soldiers, 
and at the ends of the 
line were large elephants 
bearing strong towers 
filled with armed men. 
King Porus himself was 
borne upon an elephant 
of unusual height, prob- 
ably as large as the famous 
"Jumbo." 

When King Alexander, 
who was a very brave 
and valiant man, saw 
the orderly foe, he said : " At 
last I have met with a danger 
worthy of the greatness of my soul." 
Evidently he had due respect for the 
elephant soldiers that opposed him. 
Alexander moved his forces to the 
attack, and poured in a shower of arrows 
and spears. The elephants stood like a stone 
wall, trampling the foot-soldiers beneath their 
heavy feet, seizing them in their trunks and 
delivering them to the soldiers upon their 
backs, or tossing them high in air. The ele- 
phants were evidently the main hope of King 
Porus, and, perceiving this, Alexander directed 
men, armed with scythes and knives, to attack 
them. These warriors chopped at the ele- 
phants' feet and tender trunks, until in terror 



1892.; 



WAR ELEPHANTS. 



175 



the great creatures turned and began a stam- 
pede that was disastrous to the foot-soldiers 
of their own side, for they trampled upon them 
and in their flight mowed them down like grain. 
Alexander followed close after the elephants 
upon his wounded charger ; and finally the bat- 
tle was lost to Porus because of the elephants 
themselves. King Porus, being wounded dur- 
ing the hurried retreat, desired to alight. The 
driver ordered his elephant to kneel, whereupon 
all the elephants, having been accustomed to 
obey in concert, did the same, and the soldiers 
of Alexander fell upon them and gained a 
complete victory. 

It is said that elephants which survived this 
famous battle were revered for years by the 
Indians and honored much as are the vet- 
erans of our wars. In an ancient book, the 
" Life of ApoUonius of Tyana," he is said to 
have seen in a town of India an elephant 
which the people held in the greatest respect as 
having been owned by King Porus. It was 
perfumed with sweet essences and decked with 
garlands, while upon its tusks were rings of 
gold, inscribed with these words : " Alexander, 
son of Jupiter, dedicates Ajax to the Sun." The 
elephant Ajax, according to ApoUonius, was the 
old war elephant of Porus in his battle with 
Alexander, and had survived and lived in 
honorable idleness for three hundred and fifty 
years. 

While Alexander defeated the elephant corps 
of Porus, he saw they were good fighters, and 
created the office of elephantarch, or Chief of 
Elephants; and afterward visiting monarchs 
found him surrounded by the largest elephants 
magnificently harnessed. 

Alexander was proud of the huge elephants 
of his court and fond of showing their intelli- 
gence ; and the trainer whosucceeiled in making 
the elephant accomplish the most wonderful 
deeds was highly honored. 

On one occasion some elephants were being 
shown to an eminent general, when the latter 
remarked that evidently they could perform any 
service that a man could. " They might even 
bridge a stream," he added. 

No sooner were the words uttereil than a 
signal was given and the herd was marched 
into a stream that rushed by the camp. 



The well-trained animals waded into the 
water, which was four or five feet deep, and 
arranged themselves side by side, some head- 
ing up-stream, and others down. Men now ran 
forward with planks, which were placed against 
pads upon the backs of the animals, while 
others were continued from back to back, and 
in a remarkably short space of time an ele- 
phant bridge was ready, over which the soldiers 
passed, while the huge .animals trumpeted and 
sent streams of water whirling into the air. 

On another occasion one of the generals of 
the army, who had displayed especial bravery, 
was ordered before the chief, who publicly 
thanked him. 

" Even my elephants," said one of the ele- 
phantarchs, '' can distinguish the hero." 

At this the crowd fell back, and a gorgeously 
ornamented elephant approached, bearing in 
its trunk a wreath of oak-leaves. Walking up 
to the hero of the hour, it dropped upon its 
knees, placed the wreath upon the officer's head, 
and then retired amid the shouts of the admiring 
soldiers. 

Undoubtedly the driver who sat upon the 
animal's head had much to do with this per- 
formance, but we must admit that the ele- 
phant exhibited wonderful intelligence in so 
exactlv carrving out orders. 

Elephants were used in various wars after 
the time of Alexander. One general employed 
sixty-five to batter down the walls of a city ; 
but they were destroyed by ditches skilfully 
dug by the besieged. 

Hannibal, Mago, Scipio, and many famous 
generals used elephants in war. relying upon 
them generally to frighten the foe by their 
huge, strange forms. Some of the war elephants 
l)resented a remarkable appearance, as the tusks 
of the huge animals were made longer by metal 
coverings or long knives with which to cut and 
cleave the enemy. 

In modem times the elephant has been used 
in war, and ^o-tlay forms a coqis of the British 
army in India. 

In the army of .Aurengzebc. an emperor of 
India, the elephants dragged the artiller)-, lift- 
ing the cannon-wheels from the mud when 
mired, and in some instances carrying the guns 
upon tlieir backs. 



176 



WAR ELEPHANTS. 



The elephants of Akbar, another emperor in 
an early period of the Mogul empire, were 
armed after the fashion of knights, being pro- 
tected by great coats of mail fitted to their 
bulky forms. The following description of such 
armor is taken from an ancient book : 

" Five plates of iron, each one cubit long 
and four fingers broad, are joined together by 
rings, and fastened round the ears of the ele- 
phant by four chains, each an ell in length ; 
and between these another chain passes over 
the head, and across it are four iron spikes 
and iron knobs. There are other chains with 
iron spikes and knobs hung under the throat 
and over the breast, and others fastened to the 
trunk; these are for ornament and also to 
frighten horses." There was also a kind of 
steel armor that covered the body of the ele- 
phant; and other pieces of it for the head and 
proboscis. One historian adds that " swords 
are bound to their trunks, and daggers are 
fastened to their tusks." 

It can well be understood that the approach of 
several hundred elephants covered with clank- 
ing armor, their tusks bearing daggers, and their 
trunks swords, struck terror to the foe. The 
Sultan Ibrahim marched his elephants against 
the army of Ahm Khan, and utterly put the 
men to flight. They looked at the huge mon- 
sters for a single moment, then fled in utter 
rout. 

The army of Timour, when on the plains be- 
fore Delhi, was almost frightened away by the 
elephants, and he prevented a retreat only 
by digging ditches and building great bonfires 
about his army. The force arrayed against him 
was that of the Sultan Mamood (a. d. 1399), 
who had a corps of elephants armed with cui- 
rasses, while upon their tusks were poisoned 
daggers. The towers upon their backs bore 
archers and slingers, and upon the ground by 
their sides were throwers of pitch and fire. On 
the sides of the elephants were musicians who 
beat bass-drums and made a terr;ble din with 
their bells and cymbals. This, with the shriek- 
ing and trumpeting of the elephants, might well 
have carried terror into the hearts of tlie men. 

But Timour by mere force of will put to flight 



the foe. His grandson, a youth of but fifteen, 
wounded a large elephant, whereupon the men 
upon its back were thrown, and the young 
warrior drove the animal into Timour's camp. 

While the elephants were defeated here by 
the skill of Timour's attack, the latter saw their 
value in battle, and two years later we find him 
using elephants in Syria. 

In the famous battle of Aleppo, the front rank 
was protected by elephants mounted by archers 
and throwers of Greek fire (a sort of burning 
pitch). Timour had trained his elephants to 
hide or coil up their trunks when attacked at 
this tender point, and this aided him in win- 
ning a great victory, the elephants completely 
routing the enemy. 

It was in the processions and pageants that 
elephants made the finest appearance, fitted 
with magnificent trappings, and marching slowly 
along, as if conscious of their fine looks. One 
of the most remarkable shows was that at the 
wedding of Vizier Ali, in 1795. Here twelve 
hundred elephants were in line, all richly cos- 
tumed. Of these one hundred had howdahs, or 
castles, covered with silver, while in the center 
sat the nabob upon a very large elephant whose 
howdah was covered with gold set with jewels. 

The daily parade of the elephants of the 
court of Jehanghir was a wonderful display. 
The elephants were bedecked with precious 
stones, chains of gold and silver, gilt banners 
and flags. The first elephant, called the Lord 
Elephant, had the plates of his head and breast 
set with rubies and emeralds, and as he passed 
the king he turned, dropped upon his knees, 
and trumpeted loudly — not in loyal frame of 
mind, exactly, but because the driver pricked 
him with a sharp prod just at the right time. 
Silly people, however, believed that the ele- 
phant was showing respect for the king. 

To-day, the elephant is still used in India 
in pageants, as a laborer, especially in the 
lumber districts, where it is taught to carry 
long timbers, and, as has been said, forms a 
corps in the British army; but in active war- 
fare it is now useful only in a few cases, and 
can never be employed so frequently as in 
ancient times. 




V 



rilK LHAKliK llh IHK W»K MHilA.Si: 



Vol.. \IX.— i: 







o 



Chapter I. 



This story is about a little girl named Mil- 
dred Fairleigh, and her two friends Leslie and 
Charlie Morton. At the time the story begins 
Mildred lived in Washington City, in a pretty, 
old-fashioned house on Sixteenth street. It 
was a very old-fashioned house indeed, almost 
as old as Washington City itself. It was built 
of yellow brick, with a high steep roof, and a 
tall chimney at each end. A flight of stone 
steps with curiously twisted iron railings led 
from the pavement to the front door, which was 
in the middle. Over the front door, and over 
all of the windows (except the two queer httle 
dormer-windows in the roof), were fan-shaped 
pieces of white stone. On the stone over the 
doorway was cut the date when the house was 
built, "1810." 

In 1810 Washington City was Httle more 
than a wilderness. Its streets were like winter 
roads, muddy and full of ruts. There were 
very few good-looking houses, aside from the 
buildings of State, the President's mansion, Mr. 
Fairleigh's residence, and a score of others; 
pavements were scarce, street lamps were 
scarcer, and altogether it was a forlorn sort of 
place to live in. To-day, however, the thou- 
sands of fine houses that line the smoothly 
paved streets and look down on the pretty 
parks make the Fairleigh dwelling, as I say, 
seem very old-fashioned by comparison. Never- 
theless, Mildred thought her house the loveliest 
house in the city. She had been born there. 



■ROBERT H@Wi FLITCyEK, 

JFuthoT of J^arjorie & her Papa" 



and her father had been born there, and her 
grandfather. It was her great-grandfather, 
" Gentleman Fairleigh," as he was called, who 
had built the house in 1810. That was when 
Mr. Madison was President. Gentleman Fair- 
leigh was a friend of the Madisons — in fact 
they were connected by marriage. 

But about this Amanda could have told you 
more than I can. She had the family history 
at her tongue's end, and dearly liked to talk 
about it — though not more than Mildred liked 
to listen. Amanda was a colored woman, old 
and tall and thin, who wore big silver-rimmed 
spectacles. She had been in the service of the 
Dwights and the Fairleighs ever since she could 
remember. She had been nurse to Mildred's 
mama when that lady was a baby; and when 
" Miss Mary," as Amanda always called her, 
grew up and married Major Fairleigh, Mildred's 
papa, Amanda came to live with them, and after- 
ward became nurse for tlie little Mildred. There 
were many servants in the house then, and 
" Aunt Mandy " ruled them all. 

But after the war of the rebellion, the Fair- 
leighs, like a great many other old families, 
found themselves no longer rich. One by one 
the servants fell away, until finally, one day 
when the expensive cook had to be discharged, 
Amanda begged to be appointed to the office 
of cook herself. And although Mrs. Fairleigh 
thought it was asking too much of her faithful 
old attendant, there was nothing else to be done. 

Then the " upstairs girl " was intrusted with 
the care of Mildred, although Mildred, being 
by this time eight years of age, was old enough 
to take care of herself, if she had but known 



178 



TWO GIRLS AND A BOV. I 79 

it. As for Amanda, this was one of the hard- Who 's gwine ter look out fer dis yere fam'ly ef 

est parts of her self-sacrifice in taking upon her- Mandy don't ? Hit 's kind o' hard on you, I 

self the tiresome duties of cook in her old age. allow dat, fer I can't submit to your follerin' me 

She loved her little nursling, and it went sorely . roun' de kitchen dis yere way. I)e kitchen 

against her will to give up the care of Mildred ain't no place fer my mist'is's chillun. But 1 '11 

to any one else. And Mildred, if the truth tell you w'at I '11 do. If you 's a good Chilean' 

must be told, did nut make it any easier for keep out o' de kitchen durin' de day, w'en de 

her old nurse. Being used to having her sole dinner t'ings is done cl'ar'd away in de evenin' 

attention, Mildred tagged after her in the kit- you kin come in, an' I '11 tell you de stories 

chen, begging for stories just when Amanda 'bout you' ma's folks an' you' pa's folks, des as 

was getting dinner ready ; and lliis naturally I use ter." 

made tlie old woman very cross. Threatening And so it haj^penetl tliat in the evenings, 

to pin a dish-cloth on Mildred's dress, or to give when dinner was over, Mildred would come 

her to the soap-fat man, had no effect ; and down the kitchen stairs and sit on the bottom 

finally Amanda had to make complaint to Mil- step, and wait for the clattering of dishes and 

dred's mother, which resulted in Mildred's re- pots and pans to cease. Then she would put 

ceiving strict orders to keep out of the kitchen, her head in at the kitchen door and .say, *' Is 

But the first time that Mildred saw Amanda your work all done, Mammy ? " Then, if 

after that, she was very saucy to her, and told Amanda said yes, she would go in and draw 

her that she was " a hateful old thing." up a low chair by Amanda's big one, and 

" And I would n't come in your kitchen, not Amanda would throw open the stove doors so 

if you were to beg me on your bended knees! " that the red glow lit up her own dusky face and 

she said. " And I don't love you any more, colored head-handkerchief, and flickered on the 

Now, there ! " burnished copper pots and pans arranged around 

Amanda was making beaten biscuits at the the wall, and on the soft fur of " Miss Bettv," 

time, and she stopped and looked down at Mil- the cat, who curled herself up comfortably on 

dred from over her spectacles, and then slowly the warm zinc, and purred while Amanda told 

rubbing some flour on the rolling-pin, she said Mildred the old, well-known tales of her "ma's 

quietly, " Da's right. Go right on. Da's de way folks" and her " pa's folks." 

it is with chillun. \V'en dey "s little, dey tram- Those were delightful romances, indeed. For 

pies on you' toes ; w'en dey 's big, dey tramples all of the men, according to .Vmanila. were fine 

on you' heart. Keep right on ! Be naughty an' gentlemen, and brave, dashing fellows, and all 

say sas.sy t'ings to you' ole black mammy w'at 's of the women were beautiful ladies, gentle yet 

nussed you w'en you was a baby, w'at 's sot up spirited. And all of them had elegant manners, 

nights wid you w'en you was sick, w'at 's taken and wore rich clothing, and rode in splendiil 

care o' you all dese days. Da's right ! " coaches. I rather think, however, that Amanda 

" I don't care," said Mildred, beginning to exaggerated a little, at times, about the gran- 
cry ; "you had no bu.siness to tell mama that deur and imjjortance of the Fairleighs anil the 
you did n't want me to come in the kitchen." Dwighis (which was the name of MiUlred's 

Now Amanda, in spite of her pretense of be- mother before she was married); but that was 

ing severe, was in reality very soft-hearted. So because she had been in their service so long, 

at sight of .Mildred's tears she changed her tone and was prouil of them, and loved them so 

a little and said, " Now w'at 's de use o' your that she always tried to make it ajjpear that 

carryin' on like dat, honey ? \'ou know you no other family ever had hatl a better house, 

don't mean ilat." .Vntl then, wiping the flour or better clothing, or finer manners, 

from her hands, she continued, " Come yere, Some families there might have been ecjual to 

an' Ic' me talk to you." them, perhaps, in the days of the Revolution — 

"\(iu know. Miss .M illy," she said, "in dis tlic Paynes anil Washingtons, for instance, and 

yere world it ain't w'at you 7t'(//// ter do, it 's the Lees, and the Dearborns, and the Pinck- 

w'at you ^^ol ter do, dat keeps you a-movin'. neys, and a few others that Amanda " allowed" 



i8o 



TWO GIRLS AND A BOY. 



[Jan. 



were good families. Yes, some there might 
be equal to them, " but dere war n't none of 
'em," Amanda declared, " dat was better 'n 
de Dwights or de Fairleighs. 'Cause why ? 
'Cause de Dwights al'ays was quality, an' as 
fer de Fairleighs, de fust Fairleigh w'at come to 
dis country 'way back, long befo' de Riv'lu- 
tion, was a mighty big man, I tell you ! Dey 
called him Sir John Fairleigh, an' he wa' de 
guv'nor o' de province. Da's who he was ! An' 



According to Amanda, there was no event 
of the last two hundred years, since the time 
when the famous Sir John had set foot in Amer- 
ica, that the Fairleighs had not had a great 
deal to do with the shaping of it. Before the 
Revolution, when the British and Colonial 
troops were fighting the French and Indians, 
there had been a Fairleigh in the king's ser- 
vice. Then in the Revolution there had been 
two patriot Fairleighs fighting lustily for inde- 




«]%fii5* 



"then she would put her head in at the kitchen door and sav, 'is your work all done, mammy?' 



anybody w'at don't believe it, kin jest go right 
upsta'rs in you' pa's lib'ary, an' see his coat 'n' 
arms an' his jennylugical tree a-hangin' on de 
wall dere, in a gold frame." 

And Mildred would nod her head here, 
and say very solemnly, " Yes, I have seen it 
myself" — as indeed she had every day since 
she could remember, and a very dingy and 
ugly picture she used to think it, though she 
never dared to say so, because Amanda re- 
garded it with such awe. The fact was that 
Amanda did not know what these emblems 
meant any more than Mildred did. 



pendence, and one on the other side fighting 
just as hard for the king. In the war of 1812 
there had been several of them, some in the 
American army, and one in the navy, the lat- 
ter a bold lad by the name of John H. Fair- 
leigh, who had seen service also in the war 
with Tripoli, in 1801. He got to be a captain 
later on in life. His picture was now up- 
stairs in the parlor. He wore a blue coat with 
brass buttons and a very high collar, higher 
than his ears. Anil in the background of the 
picture were ships firing cannon-balls into each 
other, and running each other down, and some 



1892] 



TWO GIRLS AND A BOY. 



iSl 



were sinking, and some were burning up, and 
altogether it was a very lively picture, and one 
that Mildred liked better than the coat of arms 
and the genealogical tree. 

There was a picture of Oentleman Fairleigh, 
too. He wore a coat with silver lace, and there 
were ruffles on his shirt, and his hair was tied in 
a queue. There were some pictures of ladies, 
also, with brocaded silk gowns, and quilted 
satin petticoats, and their hair done up very 
high and powdered. One of them, which 
greatly took Mildred's fancy, was that of a 
young girlish-looking creature with big brown 
eyes and dark curling hair. Mildred was said 
to resemble this young lady, of whom she never 
wearied of hearing. Her mother was a Mis- 
tress Fairleigh, who hved in the time of the 
Revolution at Oaks Manor, near New Ro- 
chelle. And the story that Amanda used to 
tell about them was this : One night, when Mr. 
Fairleigh was away from home with General 
Washington's army, some British soldiers came 
along and rapped on the door of Oaks Manor, 
and called out, " Are you king's men or reb- 
els?" And Mistress Fairleigh, opening the 
window upstairs, put her head out and said, 
" We are women." Then the soldiers battered 
the door down, and began to ransack the house 
for silver plate and whatever they could find of 
value, punching holes in the pictures with their 
bayonets and breaking the furniture, till at 
last they came to Mistress Fairlcigh's bedroom. 
The door was locked, but they burst it in. 
The lady was standing by the bed, having laid 
her baby down on a pillow. One of the sol- 
diers, who was looking for money, took hold ot 
the pillow and threw it aside so that the baby 
almost fell on the floor. 

" So, den," said Amanda, " Mist'is Fairleigh, 
who had a mighty spicy temper, her eyes jest 
flashed, an' she grabbed tlat baby up wid one 
han'. an' she raised de odder, an' she smack 
(hit r.ritish sojer in de face, right hard, loo! 
An' she say, ' \o\\ mis'able feller, you dar' to 
lui't my baby ! ' Uen de man he make like he 
gwine to shoot her wid his gun. Iku Mistis 
Fairleigh she drawed herself up an' say, ' Shoot, 
den, you coward! Shoot!' Den de odder 
sojers (ley laugh at de man w'at got smackeil, 
an' interfere, an' allow dat de lady got a heap 



o' pluck, an' purty soon dey went away, an' 
did n't distu'b her no mo'. Den w'en dey all 
done gone, Mistis Fairleigh she sat down an' 
begun to cry. An' w'en dey ax her w'at make 
her cry, ef 't war because de sojers steal her 
plate an' spile her fu'niture, she say no, she 
cry on 'count o' demeanin' herself, smackin' de 

man. 

" An' w'en all dis was a-gwine on, de young 
Mist'is Barb'ra, w'at's picture is hangin' in de 
parlo' (de one dat favors you, honey), she heerd 
de sojers w'en dey begin poundin' on de front 
do' ; an' she minded herself of her pa's money 
w'at was in de desk, an' she run quick an' got 
it an' hid it in de bosom of her dress, an' jest as 
de sojers come bustin' in de front do' she nm 
out de back do'. An' she run fer a neighbor's 
house, jest as fast as she kin make her feet go, 
spickity-spack ! spickity-spack ! an' when she 
got to de neighbor's house she begun poundin' 
wid her little fists on de do', an' de people 
come down an' opened de do', an' de money 

was saved." 

Then Mildred would sit and think about this 
girl who had looked like her, and wonder to 
herself whether she woukl be as thoughtful and 
brave if she heard soldiers pounding on the 
front door of their house some night, and call- 
ing out to know if they were " king's men or 
rebels." Only she did not know where her 
father kept his money, and, besides that, there 
were no king's men nor rebels now. and no war. 
There had been a war, her mama had told her. 
not so very long ago — a war between the North 
and the South. And her papa, who was an of- 
tucr in the I'nited States army at the time, 
had been wounded at the battle of Gettysburg, 
so that he had to be " retired from active ser- 
vice." Mildretl ditl not know exactly what 
that meant, but that was wliat he was now, a 
major in the army, on the rctireil list. She was 
a baby at the close of that war, and all that she 
knew about it was that her papa liatl to walk 
with a crutch, and was sometimes very iH on 
account of his wound, and that this made her 
mother very unhappy. But this war seemed 
almost as far away to Mildred's mind as those 
others that Amanda told her about— the Revo- 
lution and the War of 181 2. Only Amanda 
did not talk about her papa's war. When Mil- 



1 82 TWO GIRLS AND A BOY. [Jan. 

dred would ask her about it, she would shake French, so that she had learned to speak that 

her head and say, " Dem was par'lous times, language with very little trouble. But going to 

honey! Dem was par'lous times ! I don't like school was another matter. Now, instead of 

to talk about 'em, 'deed I don't ! " sitting by the kitchen fire after dinner, hstening 

" Did mama ever do anything in her war, like to Amanda's stories, she had to spend the even- 

— like what Miss Barbara and the others did in ing studying. It was in this way that two years 

the Revolution ? " Mildred had once asked. passed by, during which Mildred grew up to be 

" Who ! " exclaimed Amanda. " You' ma ? " a slim little maiden of twelve, with not much 

Then turning around so as to face Mildred, color in her face, dark, curling hair, and big, 

she looked at her over her spectacles a mo- brown eyes, and that is what she looked like 

ment, and shaking her long, black forefinger, when this story begins. 

said solemnly, " Listen to me, chile ! De Fair- Mildred had just reached her twelfth birth- 

leigh was never bo'n dat was Miss Mary's ekal day when she became acquainted with Leslie 

in goodness an' sperrit. W'y, w'en dat battle Morton. One Friday afternoon, in the month 

o' Gettysburg was fit, an' dere did n't come no of October, she came home from school tired 

news o' you' pa, wa't she do ? She did n't set and hungry. Going straight to the dining-room, 

in de parlo' wid a lace han'k'cher to her eye. she looked in the sideboard for something to 

No, sir ! She walk herself right over to de eat, for Amanda never failed to save her a piece 

Sec'tary o' Wa', an' she git a pass, an' she go of cake or something good from luncheon. On 

to dat place, me 'n' her togedder — 'cause Fs this occasion Mildred found a generous shce 

boun' to go, honey, wharever Miss Mary goes of bread spread with honey. Throwing aside 

— an' she hunt all t'rough de horspitals an' de her hat, she settled herself comfortably on a seat 

houses whar de wounded was — an' dey was a in the window that opened on the garden, and 

ter'ble sight, to be sure ! — an' out in de fields proceeded to enjoy the feast. But scarcely had 

whar de fightin' had b'en, an' dat was ter'- she looked at the bread to see exactly where 

bier, an' no fittin' place fer a 'oman, let alone she would take the first bite, when Eliza came 

a lady like you' ma ; and finally she foun' you' in and said : 

pa a-lyin' in a ole stable along wid a heap mo' " Miss Milly, you' ma say that jest as quick 
w'at de horspital folks had n't had time to 'tend as you git home f'om school, you 's to wash 
to. An' she brung him home, an' nussed him you' face an' ban's, an' come in the parlo'. 
back to life. Da's w'at you' ma done ! An' There 's a lady in there wants to see you." 
dat ain't all — but I tell you, honey, I don't "Oh, bother!" exclaimed Mildred, frown- 
like to talk about dem times. You' ma 's a ing and pouting, " I wish I did n't have to go 
angel, da's w'at she is — a angel on earth — in the parlor." 
an' don't you never fergit it!" "Well, I can't help what you wish," said 

Eliza ; " I 'm jest teUin' you what you' ma said 

Chapter IL ^^ t^U y^^ „ 

Of course, as Mildred grew older, she be- " Who is the lady ? " said Mildred, crossly, 

came more used to Amanda's being the cook with her mouth full of bread and honey, 

instead of her nurse. Eliza, the upstairs girl, " I don' know w'at the lady's name is," said 

had a great deal to do, and was not as patient Eliza. "There 's a little girl with her." 

as Amanda, so that Mildred soon began to " Oh, is there ? " said Mildred, stopping in 

learn to take care of herself Then other the act of taking another bite to look at Eliza 

little duties and occupations entered into her with interest. " What is she like ? " 

hfe. " Now, Miss Milly," said Eliza, " do you 

When she was ten years old, she began to think you ought ter be stayin' there askin' a 

attend school. Before that, her mother had thousan' questions ! Why don' you go an' do 

taught her to read and write, and practice on w'at you' ma say ? " 

the piano. Then, also, from the time that she " All right," said Mildred. " You tell mama 

was a baby, her mother had talked to her in I '11 be there in a moment." 



1892.] 



TWO GIRLS AND A BOY. 



183 



" 'Deed I ain't got time to be car'yin' mes- 
sages 'round the house every time you want 
me," said Eliza, leaving the room. 

But Mildred knew that Eliza would take the 
message. Eliza liked to grumble and seem 
disobliging, but it was only her way. Never- 
theless, Mildred hurriedly finished the bread 
and honey, — that is, all except the crust, which 
it took too long to eat, — and then ran upstairs 
to her own room to make herself tidy, wonder- 
ing all the time what the little girl was like. 

When she went into the parlor, her mother 
said, " Here is my daughter. Mildred, this is 
Mrs. Morton." 

The lady smiled and held out her hand, and 
said, " Why, how do you do ? " in a rather 
quick, high tone, as if she were very much 
surprised. 

Mildred gave her her hand, and said, " I 'm 
very well, I thank you." 

Then said Mrs. Morton, " You see I have 
got a little girl, too. Leslie, go and shake hands 
with Mildred." 

A short, rather stout girl, with straight light 
hair hanging down her back in a braid, a round 
face, and merry blue eyes, got uj) from the chair 
where she had been sitting, and came forward 
very frankly and held out her hand to Mildred; 
at the same time she seemed to be trying not 
to laugh. Mildred looked at her in her serious 
way, and wondered why she wanted to laugh, 
and then their hands fell apart and they stood 
there a moment with their eyes wandering 
around, not knowing exactly what to do next. 

" Perhaps Leslie woukl like to go out and 
look at the garden," said Mildred's mama. 

" Yes, dear, run along with Mildred," said 
Mrs. Morton. 

So Mildred led the way and Leslie followed 
her. Mildred had a vague idea that, being the 
hostess, she ought to open the conversation. 
Hut while she was trying to think of some po- 
lite and interesting remark to make, Leslie in- 
terru])ted her by saying : 

'■ Do you chew gum?" 

" No," said Mildred, .shaking her head very 
earnestly. " 1 don't." 

• I do," said Leslie, laughing, and putting a 
piece into her mouth to prove it. 

Mildred watched her with sui h curiositv that 



Leslie laughed again and said, " What are you 
staring so for ? " 

At which Mildred became a litde embar- 
rassed and answered, '• Oh, nothing." And 
then, for want of something better to say, she 
added, " Do you go to school ? " 

" Not now," said Leslie. '* We 've only just 
come to Washington. My father is an officer 
in the cavalry, and we have been out on the 
plains for ever so long. What is your father 
in ? Oh, yes, I know. He used to be in the 
cavalry, but now he 's retired, 'cause he was 
w^ounded. I heard pa say so." 

" Do you live in Washington now ? " asked 
Mildred. 

" Yes," said Leslie, " Pa is on duty at the 
War Department. I don't like it a bit. I 'd 
rather be in a garrison where there are plenty 
of horses to ride, and dogs. I guess I '11 have 
to go to school here. Charlie does n't like it 
either, but ma does." 

" Who is Charlie ? " said Mildred. 

" He 's my brother," said Leslie. " He 's 
older than I am. I 'm thirteen and he 's six- 
teen. Have you got a brother ? " 

•• No," said Miuired. 

" Don't you wish you had ? " said Leslie. 

" No," said Mildred, shrugging her shoul- 
ders, " I don't care for boys." 

" I do," said Leslie. " I like to play with 
boys. Can you run fast ? I bet I can beat you. 
Now, one for the money I Two for the show ! " 
.\nd Leslie put her foot out and began swaying 
her body for the start. 

" I don't want to run," said Mildred. 

" Three to make ready ! " cried Leslie, warn- 
ingly, and preparing to start without heeding 
.Mildred's protest. 

But at that moment Eli/a made her appear- 
ance, and called to the girls that .Mrs. Morton 
was going. 

'• Oh, tlear : Is she ? " said Leslie, with a dis- 
appointed look. "Just as we were having 
such a nice time ! \\'ell, never mind." she 
acliled, brightening up. " 1 '11 tell you what 
we 'II do. Our house is right close to yours, 
just aroun<l the corner, and I '11 come to-mor- 
row and see you. Shall I ? " 

" Yes," said Mildred, " and I '11 .show you 
mv play-room and my dolls." And she went 



1 84 



TWO GIRLS AND A BOY. 



[Jan. 



with Leslie into the house, and said good-by 
to Mrs. Morton. 

When the visitors were gone, Mildred fol- 
lowed her mother upstairs to her sitting-room. 
There she sat down and watched her mother 
sewing; and, after thinking a httle while, she 
said, " Are n't they common, Mama ? " 

" Are not what common ? " said her mother, 
looking up from her sewing. Her brown eyes 
were just like Mildred's. 

" I mean Mrs. Morton and Leslie," said 
Mildred. 

" I don't think that I quite understand you, 
dear," said her mother. 

" Well, they don't seem to me to be very — 
very genteel," said Mildred, " Mrs. Morton 
talks so fast and so loud, and does n't act at all 
as you do, and Leslie chews gum, and wanted 
me to run a race. I don't think that is very 
genteel." 

Mrs. Fairleigh smiled at this, and then, letting 
her hands, which held her sewing, rest in her lap, 
she looked at Mildred a moment and said, 
" But I do not think that she did anything as 
' ungenteel ' as my little daughter has done." 

" Why, Mama," exclaimed Mildred, in sur- 
prise. " What have I done ? " 

" Spoken unkindly of our guests after they 
have gone," said her mother. 

" Oh," said Mildred, faintly. Then recover- 
ing, she said eagerly, " But, Mama, I did n't 
mean to. I was just thinking, when you were 
talking to Mrs. Morton, that you spoke so — so 
softly and so gently, and she did n't. And 
everything you did was so quiet, and I was so 
glad that you were just what you are, and not 
hke her. That was all. And — and Leslie chews 
gum ! You would n't like me to chew gum, 
'cause you said so once," concluded Mildred, 
bending her head two or three times reproach- 
fully at her mother. 

At which Mrs. Fairleigh laughed. 

" There ! " said Mildred, earnestly, " that 's 
what I mean. When you laugh like that, I 
love to hear you, and I want to go right up 
and hug you. But when Mrs. Morton laughed, 
I wanted to stop my ears." And Mildred's 
eyes became a little tearful as she defended 
herself 

"Sweetheart," said her mother, more seriously. 



holding out her hand and drawing Mildred 
down into her lap. " You must not give such 
matters too much importance. It is natural for 
a little girl to think her own mama the nicest, 
and I should be sorry if you did not. At 
the same time, no doubt, LesHe thinks the same 
about her mama. Then, too, while pretty man- 
ners are very necessary to a lady, and I hope 
that you will always have them, still they don't 
make a lady any more than fine clothes do." 

"Yes, but — " began Mildred, eagerly. 

" Wait a moment, dear," said her mother, 
gently, covering Mildred's hands with her own. 
" To be a lady one must be sincere. I mean, 
by that that we must be careful, as little girls 
say, 'not to put on airs.' We must be truthful 
and brave, and that means not to say anything 
about people in their absence that we would be 
afraid to say before them. As for chewing 
gum and running races, I certainly should not 
like you to chew gum, for although there is no 
great harm in it, it is a silly habit and not a 
pleasant one for other people. But about run- 
ning races. Well — shall I tell you a secret? 
When I was a little girl I used to run races ! " 
And Mrs. Fairleigh threw her head back and 
looked at Mildred, as much as to say, " What 
do you think of that ? " so funnily that Mildred 
laughed and said : 

" Oh, Mama ! You did n't !— did you really ? " 

" Yes, I did, really," said her mother. " That 
was when we lived on a big plantation in Vir- 
ginia. And I think that if you Avere to run 
more in the garden, it would not do you any 
harm, dear. On the contrary, it would bring 
some roses into these cheeks." 

And Mrs. Fairleigh pinched the cheeks, and, 
taking up her sewing, left Mildred thinking of 
what she had said, particularly of her having 
run foot-races when she was a little girl. Mil- 
dred was surprised, even astonished, to hear 
that, but after she had thought over it a little 
while, she was glad that it was so. And pres- 
ently she went downstairs into the garden and 
ran a little race with Miss Betty, the cat, just to 
see if she could run fast. And then she got to 
laughing at Miss Betty because she ran so ab- 
surdly. She would sit down and pretend that 
she was not going to run at all, until Mildred 
was far ahead of her, and tlien she would come 



1892] 



TWO GIRLS AND A BOY. 



iS- 



scurrying along very suddenly and beat Mildred at Mildred as quietly as if she had not tlone 

after all. And then she would jump stilT-legged any of these ridiculous things, 

from one side to the other, and whirl around In fact, Mildred ran and laughed so much 

and dash up on to the roof of the old, empty that when she went into the house there was a 

stable, and crouch there while she looked down whole bouquet of " roses " in her cheeks. 

( To be continued. ) 



BARGAINS for SCHOLARS. 



-i^^l^LFHABET 5H0R] 




By Anna M. PkArr. 



A QUEER little man kei)t an ali)habet shop, 
And out from his counter, hijjpitv hop, 
He danced until he was ready to drop, 
Singing and shouting with never a stop: 
" Come in, little scholars 
With bright silver dollars, 
( )r if you 've not any 
i'licn ( oiiK' with a pennv. 
I have bumble lis 
And marrowfat Ps, 
Some Chinese Qs 
.And Japanese Ts, 
A tlock of Is 
And lots of Es, 
.\nd perfectly beautiful dark-blue Cs; 



1 86 



BARGAINS FOR SCHOLARS. 



[Jan. 



This is the place to buy your knowledge, 
At cheaper rates than are given at college ! " 
Then he 'd draw a long breath and spin like a top, 
This queer little man in an alphabet shop. 




TOM PAULDING. 

(A Tale of Treasure Trove in the Streets of New York.) 



By Brander Matthews. 



[Begtin in the November f lumber. '[ 

Chapter VI. 

THE BOX OF PAPERS. 

O W E V E R 

much men may 
differ in the five 
quarters of the 
globe, boys are 
alike the world 
over. Wherever 
they may be 
born, and what- 
ever be their 
bringing up, the 
quality of boy- 
ishness is sure to be in all of them. When the 
little cockney lad in the dark lanes of London 
hears the sound of Bow Bells, he cannot help 
sometimes putting himself in the place of Whit- 
tington, and, by sheer force of make-believe, suc- 
ceeds in owning a cat, and in disposing of it for 
a high price to the Barbary king. No doubt the 
litde Arab of Bagdad plays at Haroun al Raschid, 
and makes up out of his own head a tale of 




which he is the hero — one that in unexpect- 
edness of adventure and in variety of incident 
far surpasses any told by the fair Scheherazade 
to the cruel Sultan in the watches of the 
" Thousand and One Nights." 

So it is no wonder that the boys of Amer- 
ica delight in being Indians. The condition 
of the streets and parks near the house where 
Tom Paulding lived was very well adapted 
for redskin raids, sudden ambushes, and long 
scouts after a retreating tribe of hostiles. 
Rarely a week passed that the Black Band 
did not go upon the war-path. And it was 
therefore with no surprise that Tom was called 
upon by Cissy Smith and Corkscrew Lott, the 
next Saturday morning, and was by them bid- 
den to hurry over to Morningside Park as soon 
after dinner as he could. 

Tom was kept busy at school during all the 
week ; and Saturday was the only day when he 
really had any time to himself In the morning 
he had usually a few errands to run for liis 
mother and a few chores to do about the house. 
The afternoon was always his own. 

" What are you going to do to-day ? " asked 
Tom. 



52.] 



TOM PAULDING. 



187 



" We 've got a mighty good idea," Cissy 
replied. " We are going over to Morningside to 
play the ' Death of Custer in the Lava Beds.' " 

" That is a good scheme," Tom said. " Whose 
was it ? " 

" Harry Zachary suggested it," answered 
Smith. " He said that, if we did, we could have 



Tliis was a temptation to Tom, and for a 
moment he wavered. 

" We 'd let you be the Indian Chief, Rain-in- 
the-Face," Cissy went on, noticing Tom's hesita- 
tion, "but Harry said, as he'd suggested it, he 
thought he ought to be the Indian chief and 
lead in the scalping. But you can be Custer. 



a bully massacree, and that we could pretend to if you 'II come." 

kill them all off one by one." '• I 'd like to," answered Tom, who had made 

" Harry has first-rate notions about a good up his mind now, " but I can't. I 'm going over 

fight," Tom declared. " I 'd like to join in, these papers this afternoon." 



but I can't." 

" Why not ? " asked Corkscrew. 

" Well," said Tom, with a sense of the im- 
portance of the disclosure he was about to 
make, " I have some business to attend to. 



" If you find out anything, will you tell me?" 
Lott inquired. 

" I '11 see," was Tom's response. 

" He 'II tell you all he finds out," said Cissy 
as he rolled away, " and so could I — for he 



You remember that stolen gold I said belonged won't find out anything. As I .said before, I 



to us if we could only find it ? " 

" Yes," Cissy replied. 

" Have you found out where it is ? " asked 
Lott, eagerly. 

" No," Tom answered, " at least not yet. 



don't believe there 's anything to find out." 

This discouraging remark was intended for 
Tom's ear, and it had its due effect. Tom 
had a great respect for Cissy Smith's judgment. 
For a few seconds he wondered whether it was 



But my mother has given me all the papers — really worth while to give up a beautiful day just 



a whole box full of them — and I 'm going over 
them this afternoon." 

"Shucks!" said Cissy scornfully. "If )uu 
don't know where the gold is, what 's the use 
of looking for it ? " 

"I hoj)c to find a clue — that's what the 
detectives call it, is n't it ? " Tom responded. 

" All the clues you find," returned Cissy, 
" you can clue yourself up with ! You had 
better come over to Morningside, instead of 
staying at home looking at old pai)ers." 



to turn over a lot of dusty old papers in the 
wikl hope of finding .something which the owner 
uf the papers had ceased to seek long before 
he died. 

But lie had made his choice and he stuck 
to it. After the midday dinner of the family. 
Tom's resolve was fi.xed as if it had never 
fiiltered. His mother had given him permis.sion 
to take the bo.\ of papers from a trunk in the 
attic where it had been ever since the death of 
Nicholas Paulding ; and early in the morning he 



"What sort of papers are they?" incpiired had gone up and opened the trunk and lifted 

I.ott. " Newsi)ai)ers ?" out the box. .\s soon as he had finished his 

" All sorts," Tom replied ; " newspapers and dinner, he went ujistairs to his own room and 

old letters and reports; lots and lots of them, locked his door. Then he emptietl out upon 

1 haven't sorted them out yet, but they seem to his beil all the papers in the box. 



be very interesting." 

'■ \\ Ouid you like me to come around anil 
h(l|) you ? " asked Lott. 

" No," responded 'I'om, " I am going to find 
that gold myself, if it 's to be found at all." 

" I don't believe it 's to be found at all," said 
Cissy. " I don't believe there ever was any to 
be found anywhere. Tiiis is just a sort of ghost- 
story they are fooling you with. I 'II tell \ ou 
what you had better do. You come over with 
us this afternoon, and we 'II let \(>ii be Custer." 



The tumbled heap was about a foot high, and 
it contained one hundred and twenty-seven 
separate pieces. There were letters of his great- 
grandfather's. There were letters from and to 
his grandfather. There were copies of ofticial 
documents. There were newspa]>ers, and there 
were single articles cut from news|)apers. There 
were old maps, marked over with notes in 
Wvllvs Paulding's handwriting. There was a 
pamphlet printed in London in 1776. and giv- 
ing a full ami detailed account of the taking 



1 88 



TOM PAULDING. 



[Jan. 



of New York by his Majesty's forces. There 
were several old magazines with descriptions of 
the events which preceded and followed the 
batde of Harlem Heights. This pamphlet and 
these magazines contained notes in red ink by 
the hand of Wyllys Paulding. Most important 
of all was a statement, addressed in the hand- 
writing of Tom's great-grandfather, in which 
Nicholas told his son the whole story of the 
stolen guineas. 



appeared. Tom had to puzzle out and piece 
together, but at last he got at all the facts so 
far as it was possible to discover them. 

Here, then, is an orderly account of events 
from the time the treasure came into the posses- 
sion of Nicholas Paulding to the hour of its 
disappearance and the disappearance of the 
man who had stolen it : 

When General Washington had his head- 
quarters in New York, after the battle of Long 




TOM HAD TO PUZZLE OUT AND PIECE TOGETHER, BUT AT LAST GOT ALL THE FACTS SO FAR AS IT WAS POSSIBLE 

TO DISCOVER THEM." 



Tom wondered why it was that his grand- 
father, having taken so much interest in the 
search for the stolen gold, should have aban- 
doned it suddenly. This wonder, strong in 
the beginning, kept coming back again and 
again as Tom pursued his quest ; and it 
grew stronger with every return. A time was 
to come when Tom would understand why his 
grandfather had so suddenly given up the 
search. For the time, and for a long while 
afterward, Tom could see no reason for this 
strange action. 

With the aid of the statement Nicholas Paul- 
ding had written for Wyllys Paulding, the grand- 
son of the latter was able to learn the exact 
circumstances under which the money had dis- 



Island, Nicholas Paulding mortgaged his houses 
and lots near the Battery for the large sum of 
two thousand guineas. He had great difficulty 
in getting any one to lend him the money. In 
those troublous times, when none knew what 
might be the future of the colonies, few men 
were willing to part with the gold in their pos- 
session. At last, however, Nicholas Paulding 
found a man willing to let him have the money 
on his bond and mortgage. This man was a 
newly arrived Clerman, and his name was 
Horwitz — Simon Horwitz. He was very par- 
ticular about the form of the papers ; and even 
after all the papers had been drawn up to 
his complete satisfaction, he delayed the pay- 
ment of the money. It was not until Saturday, 



.892.1 



TOM PAULDING. 



189 



September 14, 1776, when the Continental army 
was leaving New York, and when the patriots 
were flocking out of the city, knowing that the 
British might take possession at any hour — it 
was not until then that Simon Horwitz finally 
accepted the bond and mortgage of Nicholas 
Paulding and paid over the two thousand 
guineas. 

Nicholas Paulding was a very young man, 
barely of age. He had been at King's Col- 
lege (as Columbia College was then called) with 
Alexander Hamilton, and he was scarcely second 
to that great man in devotion to the cause of his 
countr)'. He had early enrolled himself in 
Washington's army, and he had been chosen 
to act as paymaster of a New^ York regiment. 
The post was honorable but laborious, for the 
soldiers would expect their pay regularly and 
there was little money in the treasury. It was 
as his contribution to the cost of the struggle 
for liberty that Nicholas Paulding had bor- 
rowed two thousand guineas on the security of 
his homestead. He intended to devote the 
money to the payment of the men in his regi- 
ment as there might be need. 

As soon as he had counted the coins received 
from Simon Horwitz, Nicholas Paulding tied 
them up in four canvas bags, sealing the knots 
with wax, on which he impressed his seal. 
Then he concealed these bags about his person 
as best he could. He was a stalwart man, of 
full stature and unusual strength for his years, 
but the weight of these bags must have been an 
inconvenient burden. Two thousand guineas 
would be worth more than ten thousand dol- 
lars; they would be in l)ulk a little more than a 
thousand soliil eagles; and they would weigh 
not far from forty pounds. 

Karly on the morning of .Sunday, September 
15. the day after Nicholas Paulding had re- 
ceived his money, three British men-of-war sailed 
boldly by the Battery and entered the Hudson 
River. Every one knew then that the city was 
doomed to fall into the hands of the King's 
forces in a few hours. The .Vmerican troops 
made ready to retreat, and there were none to 
oppose the landing of the British soldiers as 
they crossed from Long Island under cover of 
the fire of the fleet. Nicholas Paulding was 
with some men who made a stand against a regi- 



ment of Hessians in the fields across which ran 
the Boston Road (near what is now the comer 
of Third Avenue and Twenty-third street). 
Then the .\mericans fell back and joined the 
main body of the Continental army retiring on 
Harlem Heights. The rain poured in torrents, 
and there sprang up a chill wind. The men of 
Paulding's regiment were footsore from their 
long march when they halted for the night a 
little above Bloomingdale, and not far from the 
eight-mile stone. 

They found small comfort in their hasty 
camp, a smoky fire of damp wood, what food 
they had with them and no more, — no tents 
and no blankets. Upon the sodden earth they 
laid them down to sleep; and despite the rag- 
ing of the storm, most of them were so tired 
that they slept soundly. 

With his fellow-oflicers, Nicholas Paulding 
had done his share in seeing to the safety and 
the comfort of his men. After the sentries were 
placed, he joined his companions in consulta- 
tion as to the work for the next day. Then he 
went to the place set apart for him, before a 
smoking fire beaten by the pelting rain ; and 
there he lay down to sleep, if he could. A 
man named Jeflrey Kerr had been serving as 
paymaster's clerk, and to this fellow Nicholas 
Paulding had confided the tact that he had 
two thousand guineas concealed about his per- 
son. This Kerr was lying before the camp- 
fire, apparently asleep, when Nicholas Paulding 
settled himself for the night ; the clerk was 
wrapped in a huge, loose surtout with enormous 
pockets. 

How long Nicholas Paulding slept he did 
not know, but he remembered a fiiint ilrcam of 
a capture by brigands who felt about his body 
and robbed him of his treasure. When he 
slowly awakened he was being turned from his 
side over to his back, and some one was loosen- 
ing the belt which sustaineil the bags of guineas. 
The night was blacker than ever, and the rain 
was pouring down in sheets. Still almost 
asleep, he resisted drowsily and gripped the 
belt with his hands. When the belt was pulled 
from his grasp he awoke and sprang to his feet. 
In the black darkness before him he could see 
nothing; but his hand, extended at a venture, 
clasped a rough coat. 



IQO 



TOM PAULDING. 



[Jan. 



Then there came a dazzHng flash of lightning, 
and Nicholas Paulding found himself face to 
face with the man Kerr, who had hold of the 
belt and the four pendent bags of treasure. 
The t\vo men were almost in the center of the 
storm; the lightning had struck a tree between 
them and the British troops; but before the 
clap of thunder followed the flash, Jeffrey Kerr 
smote the man he was trying to rob and forced 
him to let go the coat. Whether Kerr had 
seized a limb of a tree lying there ready for the 
fire, or whether he had used as a weapon the 
belt itself with the treasure-bags attached, the 
robbed man never knew. 

Nicholas Paulding was stunned for a moment, 
but he soon recovered and gave the alarm. As 
the thief passed the sentry he was fired at, 
but in the dense darkness the shot went wide of 
its mark, and Kerr rushed on through the lines 
of the American army. 

He was familiar with the region. He had 
been a clerk with Colonel Morris at the Red 
Mill, and knew every foot of that part of Man- 
hattan Island. It was well for him that he did, 
else he never could have escaped from his pur- 
suers, in spite of the blackness of the night. He 
was within thirty yards of a second sentry when 
another flash of lightning revealed him again. 

The soldier fired at once. There was a slight 
cry of pain; but the man could not have been 
wounded severely, since Nicholas Paulding, 
with a company of the men of his regiment, 
carefully examined the ground where Kerr had 
stood at the moment of firing, and thence 
down a hundred yards or so, to a little brook, 
which divided .the lines of the Americans from 
the British, and across which it was not safe to 
venture, even if the rain-storm had not so swol- 
len the stream as to make a crossing dangerous 
in the darkness. 

And after that hour Nicholas Paulding had no 
news of his treasure, and no man ever laid eyes 
on Jeffrey Kerr. 

The morning following the robbery, there 
was fought the Battle of Harlem Heights, which 
was a decided victory for the Continental army. 

Encouraged greatly by the result of this 
fight, the American forces lay intrenched on 
Harlem Heights for three weeks, facing the 
British troops, separated from them by barely 



three hundred yards, the width of the little valley 
of Manhattanville. During these three weeks, 
Nicholas Paulding made every possible search 
for the man who had robbed him, but without 
learning anything. From prisoners taken during 
the Battle of Harlem Heights he inquired 
whether any deserter had been received in the 
British lines on the night of September 15, but 
he could hear of none. 

A month later most of Washington's army 
was marched away from Manhattan Island, to 
do its i^art in the long and bloody struggle of 
the Revolution. 

For seven years Nicholas Paulding did not 
set foot in the city of New York, which was 
held for George III. until the close of the war. 

When the cause of the patriots had triumphed, 
and the British troops had departed, Nicholas 
Paulding seems to have made but few inquiries 
after his stolen guineas. Apparently, in the 
wanderings and hardships of the Continental 
army, he had made up his mind that the money 
was gone and that any further effort was use- 
less. Besides, he did not feel any pressing need 
of it, as he made money after the war was over, 
being able to buy lands and to build the house 
where his descendants were to live during the 
most of the next century. 

But early in this century, when Wyllys, 
Nicholas Paulding's only son and Tom's grand- 
father, was nearing manhood, the tide of fortune 
turned and several successive investments were 
most unfortunate. Long before the war of 1 8 1 2 
the lost two thousand guineas would have been 
very welcome again. Even then Nicholas 
Paulding seemed to take little interest in the 
quest — at least all the correspondence was car- 
ried on by Wyllys. The statement of the cir- 
cumstances of the robbery written by Nicholas 
bore an indorsement that it was drawn up 
"at the Special Request of my Son, Wyllys 
Paulding, Esq." 

The first thing Wyllys Paulding tried to do 
was to hunt down Jeftrey Kerr; but he had no 
better luck than his father. Tom found among 
the papers two letters which showed how care- 
fully Wyllys had conducted the search. One 
was from the British officer who had com- 
manded the King's troops encamped opposite 
the regiment in which Nicholas Paulding served 



i892.] TOM PAULDING. I9I 

on ihc night of Sunday, September 15, 1776. Riviugtofi's Ni'7li York Gazetteer or the Connec- 
'I'liis letter was dated London, October 10, ticiit, New Jersey, HitdsoiCs River and Que- 
1810; and in it the British officer declared that bee Weekly Advertiser; a folded sheet of paper 
he remembered distinctly the night before the on which was written " Notes of Horwitz's con- 
Battle of Harlem Heights, and that he was cer- fession, Dec. 13, 181 1," but which was blank 
tain that if a deserter had entered their lines on the other side (nor could Tom find any writ- 
that nigiu he would surely recall it; but he had ing which might seem to belong within the 
no such recollection; and on looking in the cover of this paper); a letter from a fellow- 
journal which he had kept all through the war, officer of Nicholas Paulding's who was with 
from his landing in New York to the surrender him on the night of the robbery and who set 
at Saratoga, he found no account there of any forth the circumstances very much as Nicholas 
deserter having come in on the night in ques- himself had already recorded them ; and, most 
tion; and he felt certain, therefore, that Kerr had important of all, a rough outline map of the 
not been received by his Majesty's forces. This positions of the American and British troops on 
letter was indorsed, in \\'yllys's handwriting : the night of September 15, 1776. This map 

"A Courteous Epistle: the Writer, having had been sketched from memory by Nicholas 

survived the seven years of the Revolution and Paulding, whose name it bore, with the date 

the Continental Wars of Buonaparte, was killed January, 1810. 

at the Battle of New Orleans." On this map Nicholas had marked in red ink 

The second of these letters was from a clergy- his own position when he was robbed, and the 
man at New London, evidently a very old man, positions of the two sentries who had fired at 
judging by the shaky handwriting. It was Jeffrey as the thief fled in the darkness, 
dated February 22, 181 1. The writer declared There were many other papers in the box be- 
that he had known Jeffrey Kerr as a boy in New sides those here mentioned, but the most of 
London, where he was born, and that even as a them did not seem to have anything to do with 
boy Kerr was not trusted. His fellow-towns- the stolen money. 

men had been greatly surprised when they heard There were not a few letters in answer to in- 
in 1776 that he was appointed paymaster's clerk, quiriesabout Jeftrey Kerr; there were many news- 
and they had remarked then that it was just the papers and cuttings from newspapers ; and there 
position he would have chosen for himself, were all sorts of odds antl ends, memoranda, and 
The news of his robbery of his superior and of stray notes — such, tor instance, as a calculation 
his flight had caused no wonder; it was exactly of the exact weight of two thousand guinea.s. 
what was expected. Kerr had not been seen Tom went through them all, laying aside 
by any of his townsmen since he had left New those which seemed to contain anything of 
London to join the army, ami nothing had ever importance. When he had examined every 
been heard of him. There was a general belief |)aper in the heap on his bed, he had two piles 
that he was dead; and this ripened into cer- of tlocuments before him: one was large and 
tainty when the wife he had left behind him contained the less important papers and news- 
inherited a fortune and he never came back to papers; the other was smaller, as it held onl\ 
share it with Iici. The wife was t"irmly con- those of real importance. 

vinced that she was a widow ; and so, in 1787, Tom took the papers in the smaller heap anil 

she had married again. set out to arrange them in order by their dates. 

L'pon this letter Wyllys Paulding had in- When this was done he made a curious dis- 

dorsed, "(!an the man have been shot the niglit cover). They were all the work of little more 

he stole the money? We know he did not than two years. 

reach the I'.ritish lines, ami now we are told \\yllys Paulding seemed to have started 

that he never returned home, though he had out to search late in 1809 — and there was no 

every reason to do so. U'ell, if he be deail, ilocument of any kind bearing date in 181 2. 

where is our money ?" .\lthough he had not found what he was seek- 

Among the other papers were cuttings from ing and what he had sought most diligently at 



192 



TOM PAULDING. 




JEFFREY KERR FIRED IH'ON BY THE SECOND SENTRY. 

least for two years, it seemed as if he had sud- I. What became of Jeffrey Kerr ? 

denly tired and desisted from his quest. II. If Kerr was killed, what became of the 

So it was when Tom Paulding went to bed two thousand guineas ? 

that night he had three questions to which he III. Why did Wyllys Paulding suddenly 

could find no answers : abandon all eftbrt to find the stolen money ? 

(7'o be continued.) 




Bv Mary Davev. 



" Oh, what a lovely old gown ! " cried Alice, modest gray and brown skirts, and plain waists. 

That morning Grandmama had given us the and the strong aprons. But this showy gown ? 

long-sought permission to rummage througli This delicate pink silk ! 

the old chest, and, after a slight examination of " ^Vhy, (irandmama I " I cried. •• when did 

its treasures, Alice and 1 had borne it triumph- you wear this lovely little gown ? " 

antly from its resting-place in the garret down " Do, dear Grandmama, tell us ! " j»leaded 

into the pleasant sewing-room, where Grand- Alice, posing before the mirror with the bastjue 

mama sat mending stockings. helil up before her. 

Now (irandmama is a very prim old laily. Anil so we coaxed; and Granilmama. who, 

sweet and neat, and dainty as can be, but still like all good old ladies, never refuses anything 

rather precise and severely plain in everything ; her grandchildren ask, let her busy hands fall 

and this frivolous, fussy little costume, with its idly upon the work-basket in her laj), and, with 

low-cut neck, trimmed with many rows of ilainty a hint of a tremor in her gentle voice, exclaimetl : 

lace, and little more than a few flounces of lace " Now, girls ! 'i'o think that you should 

to serve as sleeves — no, nothing about the remind me of my wickedness after all these 

little dress seemed at all like the Grantimama years I " 

we know. The idea of Grandmama ever having been 

The dear old lady had only smiled and nod- wicked was too funny ! But here is her story : 
ded as, one after another, we luul drawn the 

old-fashioned. Quaker-like frocks from out their It was more than fifty years ago, my dears, 

bed of camphor-scented newspapers, dated — when I wore that gown. I wore it only once, 

ages ago ! They seemed quite natural, the and many a bitter tear and sleepless night it 
Vol. XIX. — 13. 193 



194 



THE PINK GOWN. 



[Jan. 



cost me. For a long time I kept it hanging in assistant, and many a night was spent in watch- 

my closet where I could see it, to punish my- ing at the bedside of some poor sufferer, after the 

self with a constant reminder of my wrong- day had been filled with anxious care and labor, 

doing. Then after a while I felt punished My old nurse, Milly, was housekeeper, and 

enough, and so I put it carefully away, and — by and by I grew big enough and old enough 

dear me ! it seems only yesterday ! to take some of the household duties upon my 

We were living in Woodbarrow, my brother own shoulders. I used to go to school in the 




GRANDMA TELLS THE STORY OF THE PINK GOWN. 



Henry (your grand-uncle) and I. Poor as we 
were, I never felt the loss of parents, he was so 
thoughtful, so industrious, so tender and kind. 

At the time of my story, he was just beginning 
his practice as a physician. Woodbarrow was 
small and the people were poor, and so Henry 
had to struggle, in spite of the good will of his 
friends. He could n't afford to employ an 



morning ; at four o'clock in the afternoon I re- 
turned, and then I would helj) Milly and look 
after the mending, and often Henry and I 
would spend a happy hour in chatting or read- 
ing aloud before I began my lessons for the 
coming day. 

One summer a rich family named Norton 
came to board at the litde hotel in the village. 



1892.] 



THE PINK GOWN. 



195 



Mrs. Norton was recovering from an illness 
caused by grief over the death of her little son, 
and the physician had ordered quiet and se- 
clusion ; and so to Woodbarrow they came — 
Mr. and Mrs. Norton ; George, a son about 
eighteen years of age; and Clara, the daughter. 
Clara was a year younger than George, very 
pretty, with laughing blue eyes and curly hair. 

^^'ell, we young people soon came to know 
one another, and Clara and I became great 
friends. Of course there was no school in 
summer-time ; and so I often spent hours at 
the hotel with my new chum, and Clara would 
often return home with me and stay until it was 
quite dark, when George would come to take 
her back to the hotel. 

Mrs. Norton was very kind, and gentle, and 
dignified, and I remember how delighted I was 
when she herself begged Henry to let me go 
to them in the city for the Christmas holidays. 
Of course Henry consented; and soon after 
that the Nortons left Woodbarrow and school 
began again. But no matter how busy the 
days were, I found myself constantly looking 
forward to that wonderful visit to town which 
every day brought nearer. Clara and 1 cor- 
responded regularly ; and one day in the early 
part of December I received a letter. 

Here Grandmama paused and looked up. 
" Minnie, my dear, just put your hand in the 
pocket of the skirt ; I think you will find the 
letter there, and you may read it aloud." 

Sure enough, there was the letter, yellow 
and faded, but the writing jjlain as could be. 
"Dearest Anna," said the letter, "you must 
surely be here by the 20th. It is George's 
birthday, you know, and mama feels so much 
better that we ha\e decided to give our usual 
party. Mama will write to the doctor and beg 
him to let you come. Already we have a 
number of ])eople staying here, and besides 
the party we will have all sorts of things going 
on. Now let me hear at once. Yours aflec- 
tionately, Clara." Grandmama went on. 

Well, next day Henry received the letter 
which I had expected from Mrs. Norton, ask- 
ing him to let me come. I was wild with joy 
and excitement. My little box was packed 



and sent to the station and Henry's gig stood 
before the door, and I was all ready in my best 
winter frock and fur tippet and muff. Milly 
came out to say good-by, and the sun was 
shining brightly on the snow-covered trees and 
making the icicles sparkle as if the garden fence 
were hung with brilliant gems. 

" Take good care of everything," 1 said to 
Milly. 

Off we started, and just as we turned the 
corner I took a last look at the little cottage 
and waved my hand to Milly, who stood on 
the porch holding her shawl about her head. 
Ah ! I little guessed with what a heavy heart I 
should return, and how dreary this same scene 
would look. 

" Good-by, my dear little sister," said Henry 
fondly, holding me close to him just for a mo- 
ment after the shout of " All aboard I " My 
heart gave a sudden, painful throb. I was 
leaving Henry for the first time ! In my 
thoughtlessness and selfishness, I had forgotten 
everything in anticipation of my own gaiety and 
pleasure, and now I remembered that I was 
leaving my dear, gentle, hard-working Henry to 
spend his Christmas alone. 

" Henry, dear," I cried, with a quick sense of 
self-reproach, " I 'm leaving you all alone and 
you look so tired and thin — I — I 've been so 
selfish, I had n't noticed it before. Oh, Henry ! 
I doiit want to go ! " 

"All aboard!" shouteil the guard again. 

" Let go, little girl," laughed Henry, and, 
loosing my nervous clasp, he sprang from the 
platform, and though I looked out of my window 
and waved my handkerchief, I could n't see him 
through the tears that filled mv eves. 

Hut before long my natural gaiety triumphed, 
anil my heart was beating with happy excite- 
ment as the train reachetl the great station. In 
the crowd I could see both Clara and George. 

'' Here she is ! " cried Clara. " Mama would 
have come to meet you, but she is so busy ; 
there are no end of peojile at the house. Oh ! 
I 'in so glad to see v<ni. dear I " 

I must confess that in my ill-fitting gown 
I felt a little dowdyish and countrified beside 
Clara, who looked so stylish and elegant in her 
rich velvet and costly furs. 

" Welcome, my dear," said Mrs. Norton, 



196 



THE PINK GOWN. 



[Jan. 



in her soft, gentle manner, meeting us in the stand unopened for a while, wishing Clara 

hallway. would go away that I might unpack its plain 

It was a large and beautiful house. contents unobserved. 

" Come up, dear! " cried Clara; " this way ! "Are n't you going to take out your things?" 

Your room is next to mine. Is n't that nice ? asked Clara, innocently. 




'AS WE TURNED THE CORNER I TOOK A LAST LOOK AT THE LITTLE COTTAGE. 



And there is a door between, so we can talk as 
late as ever we Hke." 

Such a pretty, dainty room ! Such warm, rich 
curtains and soft rugs ! Such a cosy rocker ! 
Such a dear, little dressing-table, and, best of all, 
such a bright, glorious fire ! Clara's room be- 
yond was, to me, a perfect marvel of luxury. 
Presently Harris, a colored servant, came up 
with my trunk, I told him where to set it 
down, and then, I am ashamed to say, I let it 



Oh, what a miserable little coward I was ! 
There was nothing to be ashamed of. My 
clothes were neat and in good order. Clara 
knew that I was poor. I had not expected to 
feel so. 

" You see I have n't brought much," I said. 
This was something very like a fib. If I had 
not brought many things, I had at least brought 
all I had. 

" Dear me ! " cried Clara, " six o'clock ! It 



iSgj.] 



THE PIXK GOWN. 



197 



is time to dress for dinner. Do let your hair 
hang in the way I Hke, dear. I have spoken 
so much of you, and I want you to look your 
prettiest.'' 

Clara tripped into her room, leaving the door 
open, and chatted gaily all the while; and, peep- 
ing through, I could see a beautiful costume 
spread out upon the snowy bed. 

I had taken off my traveling-gown, and was 
about to put on a house dress of gray cloth which 
had seemed quite handsome at home. 

Presently Clara appeared at the door arrayed 
in the gorgeous gown I had seen lying on the 
bed. It was a rich velvet of dark blue with wide 
bands of lace at the wrists and neck. Clara 
was very vain and very much spoiled, and I 
really believe that she took some pleasure in 
Haunting her riches. 

Well, I put on my little house gown, which 
Henry had thought so pretty, and crept meekly 
down the broad stairway beside my handsome 
young hostess. 

" Dear me! How is this? " said Mrs. Nor- 
ton, as we entered the drawing-room. There 
was no mistaking her look of displeasure when 
she glanced at Clara's gown. 

" How sweet you look, my dear," she said, 
holding out her soft white hand to me. Then 
she talked of Woodbarrow and Henry, and I 
found myself becoming quite at ease, until one 
after another the young people who were visit- 
ing at the house strolled into the room, when I 
began to feel very strange and insignificant, and 
countrified, ami homesick. 

After dinner there was music, and Clara begged 
me to sing. 

" Oh, ])lease don't ask me I " I whispered. 

" lUil I will ask you, and you must sing," 
cried Clara, gaily. 

Mrs. Norton looked up smiling. 

" Indeed, I wish you would," she said kimlly. 
" Don't you remember that little Scotch ballail 
I liked so much last summer ? " 

.So there was nothing for mc to do but sing, 
and, after all, my singing seemed to i)lease them 
very much. There was (juite a murmur of ap- 
])lause when I left the piano, and mv heart 
bounded with pleasure. Presently I began to 
creep out of my shell, and after a while 1 found 
myself laughing and chatting as gailv as the rest. 



I'hen somebody proposed a dance. Away 
went tables and chairs; the waltz began, and 
the room was filled with merry dancers. I was 
as Hvely as any one, and danced so steadily that 
by and by I grew dizzy and tired, and dropped 
into a cozy window-.seat, and felt quite proud 
and grown-up, you may be sure, as my partner 
stood before me, smihng, and complimenting 
me, and fanning me. 

" Do please get me a glass of water," I asked, 
gasping a little ; and the courteous young man 
went oft" to do my bidding, while I closed my 
eyes and doubted if I were really the same girl 
who, at this very hour the evening before, had 
been wiping the dishes for Milly in the quiet 
little kitchen at Woodbarrow. It was quite 
dark in my comer, and I was lost in my thoughts 
when I suddenly heard my own name. Some 
people were talking quite close to me ; only 
the curtain which divided from the room the 
inclosure made by the bow of the window was 
between the speaker and myself. 

" Oh, yes. Herron — that 's her name. .\ 
jjretty little thing, but very dowdy, don't you 
think ? " I recognized the voice of one of the 
young ladies who had praised my singing. 

" She is very rustic," was the reply. " I won- 
der how the Nortons picked her up ? Did you 
ever see such a fright of a gown in your life ? " 

And then they laughed. I did n't hear 
more ; my heart was in my throat ; I had a 
wild desire to rush out of the house and fly 
home to Henry and Milly. The young man 
came back with the water, but I am afraid I 
forgot to thank him. 

As soon as I felt my face growing cooler, I 
marched out boldly and went over to where 
.Mrs. Norton was sitting. 

" Well, my dear .\nna, what is it ? " she 
asked. 

" Please," I said, trying hard to keep my 
voice from trembling — "please, may I go up- 
stairs ? I — I — I have been dancing too 
much, 1 am afraid." 

Mrs. Norton said, " Certainh .' and bade me 
" good-night " very kindly. 

I walked sedately out of the i)arlor, but flew 
up the stairs like mad, and, after taking a long 
and bitter view of myself in the mirror, threw 
mvself on the beil in a jiassion of weeping. 



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200 THE PINK GOWN. [Jan. 

made, she refuse it, because she inseest it is not I do not know what evil spirit crept into my 

as directed. Zat also is not true, mademoiselle ; conscience and held it silent while I asked 

but I can do not'ing, and I have all my trouble nervously : 

and ze rich gown upon my hands for not'ing. " What is the price ? " 

You see it is so small ! It will not fit every " Ze price, mademoiselle ? " said the sharp 

one. Ah, mademoiselle ! " she exclaimed, sud- little creature. " Ah, I will give it to you at ze 

denly turning her keen bright eyes on me, great reduction, simply to get it ofif my hands. 

" you are petite, so very tiny," smiling at me, Ze price was eighty dollar, but I give it to 

" perhaps you would purchase ze costume, mademoiselle for fifty ! " 

mademoiselle ? Oh, indeed, I will sell it vairy, " Only fifty dollars for that lovely gown ! " 

vairy cheap ! " cried Clara, turning to me. 

My cheeks began to tingle. I had no money, I felt myself growing cold all over. Fifty 

excepting the {qw dollars which poor Henry dollars ! I had never even seen so much money 

had found it difficult enough to give me, and in my life ! Oh, dear me ! Where was my 

had put under my plate as a surprise, on the vanity leading me ? 

morning when I left home. I had a sudden vision of myself arrayed in 

" Oh, Anna," cried Clara in raptures, " how this dainty silk and lace. I trembled with plea- 
lovely you would look in it ! " sure as I imagined the astonished glance of the 

" The costume would be a great bargain, Curtis girls, who had called me a " dowdy " and 

mademoiselle, I assure you," continued the said I was "rustic." And then — and then 

dressmaker temptingly. perhaps my godmother would send me a pres- 

" But — but — you know, Clara — " I began ent of money, as she had done last year at 

falteringly. Christmas; besides, I had been so very eco- 

Indeed, I had not the least idea of being able nomical for a long time, and I deserved a little 

to buy the gown. How could I, with no money ? something, and — and I would be still more 

But somehow I could n't say "No" at once saving, and I would make it up to Henry; I 

and firmly. would n't ask for anything new for a year, no, 

" What are you going to wear for the party ? " not even a pair of shoes, and, and — 

Clara asked in a whisper. " Will mademoiselle take ze gown, and such 

" I don't know," I said faintly ; " I thought a bargain ? " 

perhaps I — I — would — " I looked at Clara weakly for a moment and 

" Oh," she broke in, " this would be so lovely ! then stammered : 

It Avould make a sensation, and think how well " Y-e-s, — I — I think I will take it." 

it would look beside my blue ! If only you Clara was delighted, 

could take it ! " " Ah, zat is right ! " exclaimed the dress- 

I felt how foolish all this was, and suddenly maker; "and now we must try it on, perhaps 

exclaimed rather sharjily, " Clara, you know some slight alteration is necessaire." 

very well I cannot afford to take the gown ; I stood meekly while the Frenchwoman antl 

I — I — haven't money enough with me." her assistant put the gown upon me. I had 

" But would n't your brother — "began Clara, taken it, I could not retreat now, and I was 

when the keen little Frenchwoman interrupted very much frightened, 

her. " Lovely, lovely ! " cried Clara. 

" Oh," she exclaimed, " if mademoiselle will They all admired me, and indeed the dress 

but take ze gown, ze bill it can wait. It is not fitted me perfectly. I began to grow braver as 

necessaire zat I inseest a friend of Mademoiselle I looked at myself in the long mirror and drank 

Norton, who is one of my best customers, to in the praises of my admirers, 

pay immediately. I can send ze bill to ze Clara's dress was then brought in, and I was 

brother of ze young lady, later. Indeed, I delighted that mine was quite as handsome, 

should be charmed to see mademoiselle in ze " As to ze bill," said the dressmaker who had 

beautiful costume." so skilfully disposed of the gown, " if you will 



•] 



THE PINK GOWN. 



20I 



give me ze address of your brother, made- At last the long looked for night came. The 
moiselle, I will send it, say — in a month from guests were arriving, and Clara and I took our 
now ? " places beside Mrs. Norton. They had all told 

A month would do, I thought. I would me how beautiful my gown was, and my fooli.sh 
have plenty of time to confess all about it to little head was completely turned by all the 
Henry, and also to begin the economy which compliments I had received, 
was to atone for my present extravagance. So " You are lovelier than any one here," wliis- 
I gave her Henry's name and address ; and percd Clara. "Just see how astonished Julia 
Clara and I drove off in high spirits, after it had Curtis is! I suppose that she thinks country 

girls can't get 
themselves up 
in city fashion ! " 
Ah, well, I 
have no mind to 
talk much about 
the party. The 
night passed very 
pleasantly ; and 
when Clara and 
I crept wearily to 
bed, after the 
gay music ended, 
and the crowds 
were dispersed, 
and the lights 
burned dim, my 
ears still rang 
with flattering 
things that had 
been spoken into 
them. But when 
1 had put out the 
light and thrown 
aside mv 



gor- 
and 
jniUcd up the 
.shaile to look at 
the ijuiet street, 
and watch the 
been decided dial the bill was not to be sent to soft moonlight shining .so peacefully on the 
Woodbarrow until a month from the day 1 snow, I suddenly felt a great lump come into 
bought it. my throat, and hot tears began to drip, drip. 

Next day our gowns came home; and from slowly down my cheeks, as I thought of Henry, 
that moment until the night of the ])arty I was perhajjs at this mcmient sitting i)atiently over 
wildly hai)j)y and dreadfully miserable by turns, his books alone in his little ortice : and of 
Whenever I got a letter from Henry, 1 felt, oh! the ([uiet kitchen which Milly always left in 
so guilty. And Milly wrote to me too, and told perfect order when she went to bed; and of 
me how they missed me at home, and how the great old clock ticking solemnly away on 
Henry tried to be cheerful when he came in the mantel, and of pus.sy purring contenteilly 
tired at night, " with no little sister to meet him." or sleeping heavily on the hearth. Oh! I 



/ 




i^:^ 



geous robe. 



I nil, \N II 



GKOW IlKAVKU As 1 liiiiKID Al M\M';|.I IN I M I- I I'M 



202 



THE PINK GOWN. 



[Jan. 



did feel so ashamed and unworthy, and I 
wanted to go home and beg forgiveness. 

The whistle sounded shrilly, the train pulled 
into the little station, and there stood Henry, 
waiting on the platform with a happy, eager 
look in his kind eyes. 

" Welcome home, little sister," he cried. 
" But come, what 's the matter ? " 

I was crying like a baby. 

"Oh, Henry, I 'm — I 'm so glad to get 
home ! Don't, don't ever let me go away from 
you again ! Please, please, never again ! " 

Henry smiled and helped me into the gig. 
It was a cold, gloomy day, and my heart was 
heavy as we went through the familiar streets 
and passed the well-known houses, Milly 
stood on the veranda to welcome me, and old 
Rover gave a great howl of pleasure and 
almost knocked me down in the joy of his 
greeting. 

Nothing was changed in the little house. It 
almost seemed as if I had not been away ; but 
somehow I, myself, seemed different, 

I disliked to open my trunk Avhen it was 
brought up to my room. I never wished to see 
the hateful pink gown again, and yet the bill 
was coming, and I must tell Henry all about it. 

" But not quite yet," I said to myself; " I 
won't spoil my first days at home. There are 
two weeks left before the bill comes, and I shall 
have plenty of time." 

So, after supper that night, I found myself sit- 
ting in my rocker with my work-basket in my 
lap, and Henry was putting some papers in 
order. It was all so peaceful and happy. 

If I could only put the recollection of that 
dreadful bill out of my head for a little while ! 
But I could n't, I could n't ! 

" Well, little girl," said Henry, neady folding 
the papers, " I 'm glad to see you home again. 
I would n't write you how I missed you, I 
wanted you to enjoy yourself. But now I 
confess that even home was a dreary place 
without my little sunbeam." 

I looked up quickly and gave his hand a pat. 

" I did want to send you your Christmas 
present, dear ; but I was afraid my poor litUe 
gift would look queer among all the fine pres- 
ents I knew you would receive." 



" Henry ! " I exclaimed reproachfully. 

"Oh, I knew," he laughed — "I knew you 
would n't be ashamed of it ; but, after all, I 
thought it would be pleasanter to hand it to you 
myself, when you came home, with my love and 
blessing." Henry had risen and come over near 
me, and now he handed me a pretty box. Inside 
were a dozen pairs of warm, knitted stockings, 
a dozen dainty handkerchiefs, and two pairs of 
kid gloves, 

" You see, litde girl," he said gendy, " it 's 
been a rather hard winter. Things have been 
going wrong, and I have had no end of worries 
to pull through. That 's why, dear, I could n't 
send you something pretty, and had to get these 
everyday things that are necessary. But some 
day my sister shall have the prettiest laces and 
ribbons to be bought in the village ! " 

I felt the tears coming, and could n't look up 
until Henry had gone back to his work. 

Then I took a long look at him. I saw that 
he was pale and seemed overworked, and his 
coat was very, very shiny and his shoes had 
been carefully patched, — and then suddenly I 
realized how good he was and how wicked I 
had been; how he always denied himself that 
I might have all that I needed; and how un- 
grateful I had been in adding another burden 
to his already heavily laden shoulders, simply 
because of my miserable vanity. 

I thanked him humbly for the presents, and 
crept up to bed. I was very unhappy, and 
sobbed myself to sleep. 

All this time the pink gown lay in my trunk. 
I would not have let Milly see it for anything 
in the world. 

So the days passed, and every day the coming 
of the bill approached, and still I could not 
bring myself to speak. 

One day something happened which terrified 
me, and which made my confession harder than 
ever. It was at breakfast, when Milly came in 
with a letter for Henry. I had made up my 
mind to speak that morning, and was making a 
great effort to get my courage up, when Milly 
handed him the letter. 

He opened it ([uickly, and suddenly a flush 
covered his face, and he ])ut his hand u]) to his 
head as if he felt some pain. 

" What is it, Henry ? " I cried in fear. 



1892.1 



THE PINK GOWN. 



203 



" Nothing, nothing, my child," he said heav- 
ily, — " at least nothing that I need trouble you 
with." 

In a moment I was at his side, and begging 
him to tell me what the letter contained. He 
took my face between his hands and looked 
at me earnestly. 

" I 'm in trouble, little one," he said. " You 
see I have a bill to meet next week, and I was 
depending upon a certain amount which is ow- 
ing to me to pay it. Well, the man who owes 
the money writes that it is impossible to pay just 
now. That 's all, little girl. It rather upset 
me at first, but I '11 see what else can be done." 

I trembled from head to foot, and as soon as 
I could I rushed away to my room. 

What could I do ? What could I say ? Oh, 
if I had only made a clean breast of it at first ! 
Now, it was so much harder. 

Six days, seven days passed; and still I had 
not spoken. I was too much of a coward. I 
could not confess. 

Henry worked night and day, and I knew 
he was greatly troubled. Oh, what miserable, 
wretched days they were ! At last came the 
last day before the bill was to arrive. I was 
in a perfect fever of fear and despair. I sat up 
in my room after coming home from school and 
said I was ill, — which was the truth, indeed, — 
and at last I resolved to speak to Henry the 
moment he returned, and to tell him everything. 

I waited for hours, and it began to get dark. 
At last I heard Henry's familiar step crunching 
the snow. I bathed my face and smoothed my 
hair, and made a great eftbrt to seem calm as I 
went down the stairs. 

It was (|uite late. Henry was leaning on the 
mantel looking into the fire, with troubled eyes, 
and he had not lighted the lamp. He turned as 
I opened the door. 

" Oh, here you are ! " he said pleasantly. 
"I 've got — " then he felt in his coat-pocket, 
" I was just going to — " but before he couUl 
say more, I clasped his hands in mine, and was 
sobbing as if my heart would break. 

" No, no, don't speak to me ! " I cried wiKUy. 
" Let me hide my face here anil tell you every- 
thing. I don't ask forgiveness ; I can't ask it. 
I only want to confess." 



And then with tears and choking sobs I told 
him all about the pink gown, and my vanity 
and deceit, and the bill that was coming the 
next day. 

There was a long pause after I had finished 
my story, broken only by my own sobs and the 
solemn ticking of the kitchen clock, which we 
could hear plainly. Henry stood quietly, still 
looking into the fire, and I waited, penitent and 
miserable, not daring to raise my eyes. 

Presently, without a word, he went over to 
the table and lighted the lamp. Then he said, 
very gently : " Here is a letter for you, Anna ; 
I got it this evening at the post-office." 

Trembling, I rose and took the letter. Mv 
eyes were blinded with tears, and my hands 
were shaking. I was about to put the letter 
aside, — I did not care from whom it might be. — 
when Henry's quiet voice again said, " Why 
not open your letter, Anna ? " 

My hands still trembling, I broke the seal. I 
pulled out a folded letter, and a bit of paper, 
which was inclosed, fell to the floor. I stooped 
and picked it up, and the light of the lamp fell 
upon it. 

It was a check for one hundred dollars ! 

" Henry ! " I gasped. I could n't believe 
my eyes ; I was afraid I was dreaming. 

Again Henry spoke, " Read the letter, dear." 

I looked at him ; I saw that he knew what it 
contained. 

" Yes," he said, answering my look, '* it 's 
from your godmother. She wrote me also by 
the same mail, and said she had sent it." 

" Little one, you have been punished enough," 
he said, smiling fondly at me. With a sob, I 
knelt beside him, and he smoothed my hair 
lovingly till I was comforted. 

" My dear .\nna," ran godmother's letter, 
'• from all reports, I understand that you have 
been conducting yourself in a ver)- proper and 
praiseworthy manner during the past year. 
Henry informs me that you are diligent, eco- 
nomical, and not at all frivolous." (Here Clrand- 
mama winced a little.) ".Accept the enclosed 
with my blessing. Your aftectionate 

" Godmother." 

.\nd that 's the stor>' of the pink gown. 





By Charles F. Lummis. 



ON CARLOS," said 
Vitorino, throwing an- 
other log upon the fire, 
which caught his tall 
shadow and twisted it 
and set it to dancing 
against the rocky walls 
of the caiion in which 
we were camped for the 
night, " did you ever 
hear why the wolf and 
the deer are enemies ? " And as he spoke he 
stretched out near me, looking up into my face 
to see if I were going to be interested. 

A few years ago it would have frightened me 
very seriously to find myself thus, alone in one 
of the remotest corners of New Mexico save 
for that swarthy face peering up into mine by 
the weird light of the camp-fire. A stern, quiet 
but manly face it seems to me now ; but once 
I would have thought it a very savage one, with 
its frame of jet-black hair, its piercing eyes, and 
the broad streak of red paint across its cheeks. 
By this time, however, having lived long among 
the kindly Pueblos of the Southwest, I had 
shaken off that strange, ignorant prejudice 
against all that is unknown, which seems to 
be inborn in each of us, and wondered that I 
could ever have believed in that brutal maxim, 
worthy only of worse than savages, that " A 



good Indian is a dead Indian." For Indians 
are men, after all, and astonishingly like the 
rest of us when one comes really to know them. 

I pricked up my ears, very glad at his hint 
of another of these folk-stories. 

" No," I answered. " I have noticed that 
the wolf and the deer are not on good terms, 
but never knew the reason." 

" Si, sefwr" said he, for Vitorino knows no 
Enghsh, and most of our talk was in Spanish, 
which still is easier to me than the Tee-wahn 
language, " that was very long ago, and now 
all is changed. But once the wolf and the deer 
were like brothers ; and it is only because the 
wolf did very wickedly that they are enemies. 
Coil su lice/icia, seilor. (With your permission, 
sir.)" 

" Biicno ; anda .' (iVll right ; go ahead ! ) " 

So Vitorino leaned his shoulders against a 
convenient rock and began. 

Once upon a time, when the wolf and the 
deer were friends, there were two neighbors in 
the country beyond the Puerco river, not far 
from where the Indian town of Laguna novv 
is. One was a Deer-mother who had two fawns, 
and the other a Wolf-mother with two cubs. 
They had very good houses of adobe, just such 
as we live in now, and lived like real people in 
every Avay. The two were great friends, and 



204 



THE REVENGE OF THE FAWNS. 



20: 



neither thought of going to the mountain for 
fire-wood or to dig ainolc [the root of the 
palmilla, generally used for soap throughout 
the Southwest] without calling for the other to 
accompany her. 

One day the Wolf came to the house of the 
Deer and said: 

" Friend Pee-hlee-oh (Deer- woman), let us 
go to-day for wood and amok, for I must wash 
to-morrow." 

" It is well, friend Kahr-hlee-oh," replied the 
Deer. " I have nothing to do, and there is 
food in the house for the children while I am 
gone. Too-kwai / (Let us go!)" 

So they went together across the plain and into 
the hills till they came to their customary spot. 
They gathered wood and tied it in bundles to 
bring home on their backs, and dug amole, 
which they put in their shawls to carry. Then 
the Wolf sat down under a cedar-tree and 
said: 

" Ay ! But I am tired ! Sit down, friend 
Deer-woman, and lay jour head in my lap, 
that we may rest." 

" No, I am not tired," replied the Deer. 

" But just to rest a little," urged the Wolf. 
The Deer good-naturedly lay down with her 
head in the lap of her friend. But soon the 
Wolf bent down and caught the trusting Deer 
by the throat, and killed her. That was the 
first time in the world that any one betrayed 
a friend, and from that deed comes all the 
treachery that is. 

The false ^Volf took off the hide of the Deer, 
and cut off some of the lUL-at anil carried it 
home on her load of amole and wood. She 
stopped at the house of the Deer, and gave the 
Fawns some of the meat, saying : 

*' Friends Deer-babies, eat. Vour mother 
will not come to-night." 

The Fawns were very hungry, and as soon as 
the Wolf had gone home they built a big fire in 
the firei)lace, meaning to cook their supper. But 
at that moment one of them heard a voice. 
" Look out, look out! the Wolf has slain your 
mother! " 

He was greatly frightened, and called his 
brother to listen, ami again the same wonls 
were heard. 

"The wicked old Wolf has killed our nana.' 



(mama! ) " they cried, and, pulling the meat from 
the fire, they laid it gently away and sobbed 
themselves to sleep. 

Next morning the Wolf went away to the 
mountain to bring the rest of the deer-meat ; 
and when she was gone her Cubs came over to 
play with the Fawns, as they were used to doing. 
When they had played awhile, the Cubs said : 

'■' Fee-00-wee-deh (litde Deer), why are you so 
prettily spotted, and why do you have your 
eyelids red, while we are so ugly ? " 

" Oh," said the Fawns, " that is because when 
we were little, like you, our mother put us in 
a room and smoked us, and made us spotted." 

" Oh, Fawn-friends, can't you spot us, too, so 
that we may be pretty ? " 

So the Fawns, anxious to avenge the death 
of their mother, built a big fire of corn-cobs in 
the fireplace, and threw coyote-grass on it to 
make a great smoke. Then, shutting the Cubs 
into the room, they plastered up the door and 
windows with mud, and laid a flat rock on top 
of the chimney and sealed it around with muil ; 
and, climbing down from the roof, they ran 
away to the south as fast as ever they could. 

.Vfter they had gone a long way, they came 
to a Coyote. He was walking back and forth 
with one paw up to his lace, howling dreadfully 
with the toothache. The Fawns said to him 
very politely : 

'■'• AJi-boo .' (poor thing!) Old man, we are 
sorry your tooth hurts. But an oKl Wolf is 
chasing us, and we cannot stay. If she comes 
this way, asking about us, do not tell her. will 
you ? " 

'' Etn-iiah (no). Little Deer-friends. I will 
not tell her" — anil he began to howl again 
with pain, while the Fawns ran on. 

When the Wolf came to her home with the 
rest of the meat, the Cubs were not there; 
and she went over lo the house of the Deer. It 
was all sealed anil still ; and when she pushed 
in the door, there were her Cubs dead in the 
smoke! When she saw that, the old Wolf was 
wild with rage, and voweil to follow the Pawns 
and eat them without mercy. She soon found 
their tracks leading awav to the south, and 
began to run very swiftly in pursuit. 

In a little while she came to the Coyote, who 
was still walking up and down, howling so that 



2o6 



THE REVENGE OF THE FAWNS. 



[Jan. 



one could hear him a mile away. But not 
pitying his pain, she turned and snarled at 
him roughly : 

" Say, old man ! have you seen two Fawns 
running away ? " 




THE WOLF, AND THE COYOTE WITH THE TOOTHACHE. 

The Coyote paid no attention to her, but kept 
walking with his hand to his mouth, groaning, 
'■'• Mm-vi-pdh I Mm-m-pdh /'' 

Again she asked him the same question, more 
snappishly, but he only howled and groaned. 
Then she was very angry, and showed her big 
teeth as she said : 

" I don't care about your ' m-m-pdh I m-m- 
pdh ! ' Tell me if you saw those Fawns, or I '11 
eat you this very now ! " 

" Fawns? Fawns ? " groaned the Coyote — " I 
have been wandering with the toothache ever 
since the world began.* And do you think 
I have had nothing to do but to watch for 
fawns? Go along! and don't bother me." 

So the Wolf, who was growing angrier all 
the time, went hunting around till she found 



the trail, and went running on it as fast as she 
could go. 

By this time the Fawns had come to where 
two Indian boys were playing k'wah-Vhim 
[a kind of walking target-shoot] with their bows 
and arrows, and said to them : 

" Friends boys, if an old Wolf comes along and 
asks if you have seen us, don't tell her, will you ? " 

The boys promised that they would not, and 
the Fawns hurried on. But the Wolf could run 
much faster, and soon she came to the boys, to 
whom she cried gruffly: 

" You boys ! Did you see two Fawns run- 
ning this way ? " 

But the boys paid no attention to her, and 
went on playing their game and disputing. 
" My arrow 's nearest ! " " No, mine is ! " 
" 'T is n't ! Mine is ! " She repeated her ques- 
tion again and again, but got no answer till she 
cried in a rage : 

" You little rascals ! Answer me about those 
Fawns, or I '11 eat you ! " 

At that the boys turned around and said: 

" We have been here all day, playing k^wah- 
Vhim, and not hunting Fawns. Go on, and do 
not disturb us." 

So the Wolf lost much time with her ques- 
tions and with finding the trail again; but then 
she began to run harder than ever. 

In the mean time the Fawns had come to 
the bank of the Rio Grande, and there was 
P' ah-chah-kl6o-hli (the Beaver), hard at work 
cutting down a tree with his big teeth. And 
they said to him very politely: 

" Friend Old- Crosser-of-the- Water, will you 
please pass us over the river ? " 

The Beaver took them on his back and car- 
ried them safely across to the other bank. 
When they had thanked him, they asked him 
not to tell the old Wolf about them. He prom- 
ised he would not, and swam back to his work. 
The Fawns ran and ran, across the plain, till 
they came to a big black hill of lava that 
stands alone in the valley southeast of Tome. 

" Here ! " said one of the Fawns ; " I am sure 
this must be the place our mother told us about, 
where the Trues (gods) of our people live. Let 
us look." 

And when they came to the top of the hill, 



* There is a very quaint folk-story — which I hope to tell you sometime — explaining why the coyote howls so much. 



1892. 



THE REVENGE OF THE FAWNS. 



207 



they found a trap-door in the soHd rock. When 
they knocked, the door was opened and a voice 
called, '• Enter I " They went down the ladder 
into a great room under ground ; and there 
they found all the Trues of the Deer-people, 
who welcomed them and gave them food. 

^\'hen they had told their story, the Trues 
said : 

" Fear not, friends, for we will take care of 
you." 

And the War Captain picked out fifty strong 
young bucks for a guard. 

By this time the Wolf had come to the river, 
and there she found the Beaver hard at work, 
and grunting as he cut the tree. 

" Old man I " she snarled, " did you see two 
Fawns here ? " 

But the Beaver did not notice her, and kept 
on walking around the tree, cutting it and 
grunting " Ah-06-maIi .' Ah-06-mah ! " 

She was in a terrible rage 
now, and roared : 



'' Well, wait then till I cut around the tree 
three times more," said the Beaver; and he 
made her wait. Then he jumped down in the 
water and took her on his neck, and began to 
swim across. But as soon as he came where the 
water was deep, he dived to the bottom and 
stayed there as long as he could. 

" Ah-h-h 1 " sputtered the Wolf when he came 
to the surface. As soon as the Beaver got a 
breath, down he went again ; and so he kept 
doing all the way across, until the Wolf was 
nearly drowned — but she clung to his neck 
desperately, and he could not shake her off. 

When they came to the shore the old Wolf 
was choking, coughing, and crying, and so mad 
that she would not pay the Beaver as she had 
promised — and from that day to this the 
Bea\er will never ferry a wolf across the river. 




" I am 

not talking '<///- Presently 

06-mah!' to you. I 'in she found the 

askmg if you saw two Fawns." the woi.f mkkts the bovs plavinc. with trail, and came run- 

, 11' 11 t. • 1 ■% ,» . . IHF.IK W1WS AND ARKOWS 

" Well, said the Beaver, " 1 have nuig to the hill. When 

been < utting trees here by the river ever since she knocked on the trap-door a voite from 

I was born, and I have no time to think about within called. "Who?" 

fawns." " Wolf-woman," she answered as politely as 

The W^olf, crazy with rage, ran up and down she could, restraining her anger, 

the bank, and at last came back and said : " Come down," said the voice, and hearing 

" Old man, if you will carry me over the river her name the fifty young Deer-warriors — who 

I will pay you ; but if you don't I '11 eat you up." had carefully whetted their horns — stood ready. 



208 



THE REVENGE OF THE FAWNS. 



The door flew open, and she started down the 
ladder. But as soon as she set her foot on 
the first rung, all the Deer-people shouted : 

" Look what feet ! " [For, though the deer is 
so much larger than the wolf, it has smaller 
feet.] 

At this she was very much ashamed, and 
pulled back her foot ; but soon her anger was 
stronger, and she started down again. But 



" Ho ! " thought the Wolf. " That is easy 
enough, for I will be very careful." And aloud 
she said : " It is well. Let us eat." 

So a big bowl of soup was brought, and each 
took a gnayave* and shaped it like a spoon to 
dip up the soup. The old Wolf was very care- 
ful, and had almost finished her soup without 
spilling a drop. But just as she was hfting the 
last sup to her mouth the Fawns appeared sud- 







'THE FAWNS APPEARED SUDDENI-V, AND AT SIGHT OF THEM THE WOLF DROPPED THE SPOONFUL OF SOUP. 



each time the Deer-people laughed and shouted, 
and she drew back. 

At last they were quiet, and she came down 
the ladder. When she had told her story the 
old men of the Deer-people said : 

" This is a serious case, and we must not 
judge it lightly. Come, we will make an 
agreement. Let soup be brought, and we will 
eat together. And if you eat all your soup 
without spilling a dro]j, you shall have the 
Fawns." 



denly in the door of the next room, and at sight 
of them she dropped the spoonful of soup. 

" She has lost ! " shouted all the Deer-people, 
and the fifty chosen warriors rushed upon her 
and tore her to pieces with their sharp horns. 

That was the end of the treacherous Wolf; 
and from that day the Wolf and the Deer have 
been enemies, and the Wolf is a little afraid 
of the Deer. 

And the two Fawns ? Oh, they still live with 
the Deer-people in that black hill below Tome. 



* An Indian bread made by spreading successive films of blue corn-meal batter on a flat hot stone. It looks more like a piece 

of wasp's nest than anything else, but is very good to eat. 




¥*^(©ltrc^mnc^apU 



V' res/e of y' name 
omytted, y' tayle goeth 
on. 



y knighie seemeth 
a junk-shoppe on 
/egs, forsooth ! 



Hee was wealthie, 
hee teas. 



Hee carryes hys 
coales toe Xe7i.i- 
idstie. 



Sani-n-e/'s dresse 
is neate hutte notte 
i^ani/ie. 



OF Y' KXIGHTE, Y'" YEO-MANXE, AXD Y'" FAIRE DAMOSEL 

Canto I. 

/// 7Ci/iych y' olJe-tyme Once onne a tyme there bin a knighte, 
tayle y^ begun ne. Was called Sir Dominoes 

Johannes Houven-Gouven-Schnouvers 
San Domingo Mose — 
A warrior hee of noble bloode 

As e'er founde funne in fyghte. 
Oh, when hee putte hys armoure on 

Hee was a fearsome sighte ! 
Bounde rounde with strappes, 

and strippes, and stryngs, 
^^'ith thingumbobbes and pegs, 
With stove-hddes buckled on hys breaste, 

And stove-pypes on hys legs, 
An ironne potte upon hys headde, 

A brazen home toe toote, 
A sworde stucke uppe hys burlie backe, 

A razor downe hys boote. 
Hee owned greate castles, landes, and menne, 

And gallant shyppes, and steedes, 
And twice as manie goldenne coinnes 

As aniebodie needes. 
Y - knighte hee loved a farmer's lass : 

Alas ! Shee loved notte hym ; 
But doted on a yeo-manne bolde. 

By name Sam-u-el Slimme, 
Who ploughed, ami sowed, and reaped, 
and binned, 
Who stanchlie tilled y*" dirte, 
And wore a look of honcstie. 
Likewise a flannel shirte. 





Vol. XIX. — 14. 



ao9 



210 



Y^ KNIGHTE AND Y YEO-MANNE 



[Jan. 



Hee was noe mil- 
lionaire, noite /lee. 



A wilfuUe ivomait 
will have her waye. 



Stronge was hys arme ; warme was hys 
hearte ; 

Colde was hys common-sense ; 
Butte, otherwise, poore Sam-u-el 

Hadde notte a dozen pence. 
Yet Albacinda scofted and scorned 

Y' high and haughtie knighte : 
She did notte hke hys ironne clothes. 

Nor care to see hym fyghte. 
Hys castle was too olde and darke; 

She scorned hys golde as welle — 
Her father on Sir Mose dyd smyle : 

She clung to Sam-u-el. 



Y' birdes syngen and 
Sprynge comeii in. 




y knighte speaketli 
pleasaiuitlie. 



V dogges of waiTe 
air svcked onne. 



Sani-7i-el saveth 
hys baconne. 



Y' knighte doeth 
a grande circiisse 
acte. 



Canto II. 

One mornynge in y^ monthe of Maye, 
Amidst y" growinge graine, 

V rivalle lovers met, eftsoon, 
A-comynge downe y" lane. 





" Give waye, vile caitiff! " cryed Sir Mose, 
" And lette me journeye on ; 
Or I will strewe thy fragmentes uppe 

And downe y*" horizonne ! " 
Then bolde Sir Mose hee drewe hys sworde, 

Felte once its rustic edge, 
And slashed a slash at Sam-u-el 

That mowed tenne yardes of hedge. 
I' faithe ! It was a vicious blowe 

And whystled in y" aire ! 
Butte when it reached brave Sam-u-el, 

Sam-u-el was notte there. 
Soe fierce and fearfulle was y*" stroke 

Sir What 's-hys-name arose, 
Turned three successyve summersaultes. 

And landed on hys nose. 



,S....| 



V' KMCIIIF. \\I) v' vkm-manm-; 



2 1 1 




. / toaniyn^e 'gainst 
full-ihrsse suits. 



A painjulle tailor- 
ytige-f or soothe. 



It pleaseth Sam- 
u-cl toe bee sar- 
casticalle. 



y knighte hoivleth. 



A Hit tlireatctieth 
painc toe Sain-ii-il. 



Pt/i/iance a l>ou- 
fyre latrr. 



Hys stove-plates drove hym in y'' miuUle 

Sixe inches by y*-' fallc : 
Y" knighte, soe weightilie got uppe, 

Coulde notte gette uppe atte alle. 
Sam-u-el did notte haste awaye, 

For hee hadde cutte a sticke 
Four tymes as longe as hys righte arme, 

And e'en a'moste as thicke ; 
Then, thoughe \'" knighte was well dressed upi)e. 

Y^ farmer dressed hym downe, 
He mayde ye knighte soe blacke and blue 

Hee was tjuite done uppe browne. 
" Ye picked thys bedde," quoth Sam-u-el, 
" Methinkes I "11 lette thee lie : 
Thy lying once wille bee grimme truthe. 

Sweet dreams, faire Sir! Goode-by I " 
Y" knighte, soe sorelie taken in, 

\\ oulde fain bee taken oute : 
"1 slycke at thys!" in wrathe hee cryed. 

And loude for heljie dyd shoute. 
And eke hee sware a mightie vow. 

" (ireate fishynge-hookes, Y' bette. 
Hy my beste Sunday garter-stryngs, 

1 Ml beate y" plough-manne yctte ! " 
Hys haire it stooile strayghte uppe for rage ; 

Hys lippes were wh) te with foame ; 
Hee sware toe goe that nighte and burne 

Sam-u-el's humble home. 



Bii/ig y' nig/tte-tyme, 
when honeste foike 
are safe aheiiJe. 



Canto III. 

Above y" deepe and ilanksome delle 
Beneathe y' gloomye woode, 



212 



Y^ KNIGHTE AND Y^ YEO-MANNE. 



[Jan. 



Y"^ vvynde it howled a dismalle straine, 
Y^ knighte hee howled for bloode ; 




// gj'oweth iiiterest- 
ynge for Sir Mose. 



V knighte moveth 



hys hootes. 




Hee hath a pressynge 
engagemente else- 
tuheres. 



Hee taketh " Excel- 
sior " for hys 
viottoe and clyjnbeth 
tipivard. 



Jntroducynge Sam- 
u-el and hys 
ironnie again. 



But as hee stole alonge, a buUe 

Espied y^ lanteme dimme, 
And whyles hee hunted Sam-u-el, 

Y" buUe it hunted hym! 
When it flewe in, y"" lighte flewe oute ; 

Y^ knighte flewe, with a crye ; 
Hys coat-tayles they flewe oute beehynde; 

Hys legges how they dyd flye ! 
Y'' stove-pypes flewe ; y*^ stove-liddes too ; 

Hys weaponnes wente toe potte ; 



Sir Mose arose upon hys toes : 

Hee juste gotte uppe and gotte ! 
With those greate hoiTies, three cloth-yardes longe, 

A whystlynge in y^ wynde, 
Soe on y*" knighte spedde, like some curre 

With a tinne canne beehynde. 
For e'en a'moste twoe myles hee fledde ; 

Nigh tuckered oute was hee, 
When oute of danger's waye hee clomb. 

Into an apple-tree. 
Whereon hee hunge a-shiverynge 

And shriekynge atte y*" beaste. 
Till Sam-u-el came oute toe worke. 

When daye dawned in y^ easte. 
Forsooth, Sam-u-el's rage waxed hotte ; 

Then loude hee 'gan toe laugh : 



i8gt.] 



Y^ KNIGHTE AND Y^ YEO-MANNE. 



21 




V knighte mceteth 
with a fearsome 
tnis/iap/e, and 

JJyiih high. 



'' Htuhinpf' cneth 
Sani-tt (•/. 



Wherein Sam-n-e/ 
7Vooeth boUlie. 




Toe judge by thy companion. Sir, 

Thou art a bawiynge calfe — 
For menne are knowne, I trow, Sir, by 

Y' companie they keepe — 
Thoughe onlie chickens rooste in trees 

Whyles honeste people sleepe ! " 
Sir jMose yelled fiercelie ; butte, quite weake 

From hangynge alle y' nighte, 
Hee felle upon y"= buUe, which tossed 

Hym clean uppe oute of syghte ! 



Canto 1 1 II. 



Then uppe gat bolde younge Sam-u-el 

And galloped downe y' lane. 
Unto hys true-love's windowe-ledge. 
And tappeil upon y"" pane : 
" Come forthe, sweete-hearte ; my love thou art ! 
Come forthe and hie awaye I 
Thou 'It married bee, deare girle. toe mee 

Before highe noone thys daye. 
Swcete Albacinda, flye with mee. 
And rule these vaste concemes. 

Helde safe in truste for bolde Sir Mose! 
Thys is a Joke. (If ever hee retumes !)" 

They proceeJe toe Now gallop, gallop, gallant horse ! 
.fly^- Now gallop with thy prize ! 



2 14 



Y^ KNIGHTE AND Y^ YEO-MANNE. 



Maud S., please take 
tiofyce hereabouts J 



And hurle y'' claye in chunkes awaye 

As bigge as apple-pies ! 
Flye dovvne y'^ roade, arounde y"= hille, 

Uppe toe y*" castle doore ; 
Across y'^ tremblynge drawbrydge flye 



Y*^ fria) cometh 
forth. 

V bells furue some 
siimiiiersaultes. 



— If hee kiioiveth 
upon whych side 
hys breade is but- 
tered. 




Uppe toe y'= banquette floore ! 
Quicke, calle y^ gray-haired friar in 

From oute hys gloomie celle, 
Toe tie these twoe younge true-loves tighte 

Ryng oute, y*" marriage bell ! 
Ryng "jingle-jangle jangle jing ! " 

Ryng " fol-de-riddle-laye ! " 
Bolde Sam-u-el has wonne hys bryde 

For ever and a daye ! 
Goe, bidde y*" foolishe father 

Toe forgette hys angrie pride, 
Accepte hys new-made son-in-lawe, 

And blesse y*" bonnie bryde. 




Jack Bennett. 



TWO QUEER COUSINS OF THE CRAB. 



By Ei-izA Rl'hamah Scidmokk. 






.;i 



.•_:*^d^5£ 




I v» 



!. 



Xlt ^■■■^ 



ia# 



■\ :i^ 






^i.:3^:-:::^^- 



''^■«»^~' 



4 










THE ISLAND OF ENOSHIM.V. OFK THE COAST OF JAPAN. 



\VnH the people, the houses, the tea-pots, the 
chickens, and so many things on so small a 
scale in lapan, there is all the greater sur- 
prise when one finds anything there wiiich has 
attained an inuisual or gigantic size. 'I'he 
,(,arse white radish, ihikon, from six to ten 
feet in length, strikes one as a vegetable 
j„ke in that land of Lilliput. The giant in one 
fairy stor>- uses a dalkon for a club, and the 
street-peddlers lean their daikotis up against the 
side of a house as if they were whips ..r fish- 
poles. One might very naturally in. pure the 
price of diikon by the yard, when he goes to 

market. 

The ihikon matches in its giant size the 
famous crabs found off Enoshima. an island 
lying some thirty miles below Yokohama. 
At low ti<le Enoshima is a rocky peninsula 



joined to the land by a long sandy bar. 
\t high tide the water covers this sandy 
strip, and in time of heavy storms also the 
far-reaching waves make it an island and sur- 
roun.l it wuh foam. Enoshima is covered with 
groves and ancient temples, and there is even a 
temple in a cave f^ir in under the island, which 
one can enter onlv at low tide. Tea-houses 
and pretty summer villas peep from the dense 
groves; and while pilgrims resort there to pray, 
other people go t«. enjoy fish .linners and to 
buv all the curious shells, sponges, corals, sca- 
weetls, and pretty trifles that can be made of 
shells and fish-scales. 

Ihe onlv unwelcome visitor to this beautiful 
beach is the giant crab, whose shell is about 
as large as that of the green-turtle, whose eyes 
project an.l wink, and roll horribly, while each 



2 l6 



TWO QUEER COUSINS OF THE CRAB, 



[Jan. 



of its daws measures five to six feet in length, that one big crab is worth more than a whole 
The ordinary visitor does not meet this crab netful of common fish. Every perfect crab 
walking up the beach in the daylight. Heavy landed can be sold for five dollars or more, and 
storms sometimes sweep them in from the deep in time each travels to a foreign country and 
waters where they live, and the fishermen hunt becomes the gem in some museum's collection 

of shell-fish. 

The fisher- folk along this far 
Pacific strand tell some stories 
that make a bather find this 
crab as dreadful as the cuttle- 
fish, which also inhabits these 
waters. They claim that the 
big crab will fight fiercely when 
attacked, and will, without rea- 
son, nip at any moving thing. 
Then, too, they say that its 
eyes give out light and glow 
like balls of fire in the dark. 
Some revelers coming home 
very late from the tea-houses 
of the neighboring village of 
Katase have been frightened 
sober by seeing the beach full 
of these red-eyed crawling mon- 
sters, who cracked their claws 
in the air and rattled their bodies 
over the stones as they gave 
chase. In Japanese fairy stories, 
these crabs have run away with 
bad little boys and girls, haunted 
wicked person's dreams, and 
taken other part in human 
affairs. The Enoshima 
crabs were brought into 
modern English fiction by 
Rider Haggard, in his 
story, " Allan Quater- 
main." In that book, the 
heroes came out from an 
underground fire-chamber 
and floated along a deep 
and narrow canon. When 
they stopped to rest and 
eat, an army of crabs 
a net. They would make quick work came up at the smell of 

of throwing the crab back into the water, and food, and rolled their eyes and cracked their 
afterward beg in the cave shrine of Benten claws, until they frightened the heroes away. 
Sama that the gods should not plague them Mr. Haggard says in a foot-note that he 
wdth any more such luck. In this modern and had read of these crabs in some book of travel, 
money-making day, the fishermen have learned and borrowed them for this caiion scene to 




them on the reefs off- ' ~^_ 
shore, or to their sur- -" 

prise bring them up in 
their nets. The weight 
of the crab and the 
thrashing of his claws 
generally ruin the fish- 
erman's net, and he is 
an unpleasant fellow-traveler in a small 
boat. Such a crab in the middle of a 
boat twelve feet long could reach 
out to both ends of it and nip the 
men at bow and stern ; and his reach 
measured sidewise, in the real crab- 
fashion, is sometimes over twelve feet. 
The fishermen used to consider it bad 
luck to haul up one of these crabs in 




THE GIANT CRAB. 



TWO QUEER COUSINS OF THE CRAB. 



21 



1892.] 

make Allan Quatermain's adventures the more of the shell between them, look like tufts of 

hair at the top of a narrow forehead. Ihere 
^""one^Enoshima story tells of a great feast of are lumps resembling eyelids, which slant up- 
sweet potatoes the monkeys had planned by the ward as do those of the Japanese and other 
sea shore When the potatoes were cooked the parts of the shell look hke full and high cheek- 
crabs smelled them, and came in from the sea bones. Below a ridge which might be called 
and drove the monkeys away. The monkeys the nose two claws spread out at either side, 
ran up the chestnut-trees and pelted the crabs and may be likened to the fierce, bnsthng mus- 
with the burrs, but the crabs never felt any taches which are fastened to the helmet of 



prickles through their thick shells, and continued 
to eat. Then the monkeys made a chain of 
themselves by hanging on to one another from 
the branches overhead, and tried to snatch the 



->" *■ — 




potatoes away. They cap- 
tured a few, and had a great 
chattering about it, until the 
crabs found out the reason 
for the loss of their sweet 
potatoes. The next time 
the chain of monkeys let 
down a little ape, a big crab 
reached out and caught him. 

There are many other 
stories and fables, which tell 
of the constant warfixre be- 
tween monkeys and crabs, 
and Japanese artists draw comical pictures to 
illustrate them. 

Another curious Japanese crab is the little 
Dorippe, whit h tomes from the Inland Sea of 
Jai^an, and has a perfect human face modeled 
on the back of his little inch-long shell. 
The Dorippe's eyes, and the uneven edge 



Japanese armor. This plainly marked face on 
the crab's shell naturally gave rise to many 
stories and legends. At one jjlace in the Inland 
Sea, centuries ago, an army of the Taira clan 

was overtaken and 
driven into the sea by 
their enemies. At 
certain times of the 
year the Dorippes 
come up on the beach 
and the rocks by 
thousands. Then the 
fishermen and vil- 
lagers say with fear, 
" The Sdiniimi have 
come again." They 
believe that the souls 
of the dead warriors, 
or Samurai, live in the 
Dorippes, antl that 
they gather in great 
numbers at the scene 




Till 



IKAIl Willi A l-ACK ON ITS HAIK. KKAI ^MV 



(TIIK I ITER PICTIRE IS MAGNIFIED.) 

ilav comes 



of their defeat whenever the same 
round in later years. 

The face on the Dorippe's back is like a 
swollen and mottled one. The eyelids seem 
closed, as if in a sleep or stupor, while its mouth 
• piite carries out the other common story, that 
all the old topers are turned into these crabs 



i8 



TWO QUEER COUSINS OF THE CRAB. 



[Jan. 



and must keep that form as a punishment for one who notices the resemblance of the shell to 

some long time. The swollen heavy faces may a queer Japanese face may think there is good 

quite as well be those of bleary old topers as of reason for either story as to why the Dorippe's 

warriors who met death by drowning ; so that shell is so strangely marked. 



WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE. 



By Laura E. Richards. 



Chapter I. 



OURSELVES. 

There were five of us. There had been six, 
but the Beautiful Boy was taken home to heaven 
while he was still very little, and it was good for 
the rest of us to know that there was always one 
to wait for and welcome us in the Place of Light 
to which we should go some day. So, as I said, 
there were five of us here : Julia Romana, Flor- 
ence, Harry, Laura, and Maud. Julia was the 
eldest. She took her second name from the 
ancient city in which she was born, and she was 
as beautiful as a soft Italian evening, with dark 
hair, clear gray eyes, perfect features, and a 
complexion of such pure and wonderful red and 
white as I have never seen in any other face. 
She had a look as if, when she came away from 
heaven, she had been allowed to remember it, 
while others must forget ; and she walked in a 
dream always, of beauty and poetry, thinking 
of strange things. Very shy she was, very sen- 
sitive. When Flossy (as Florence was most often 
called) called her "a great red-haired giant," she 
wept bitterly, and reproached her sister for hurt- 
ing her feelings. Julia knew everything, ac- 
cording to the belief of the younger children. 
What story was there she could not tell ? She 
it was who led the famous before-breakfast 
walks, when we used to start off at six o'clock, 
and walk to the Yellow Chases' (we never knew 
any other name for them ; it was the house that 
was yellow, not the people) at the top of the 
long hill, or sometimes even to the windmill 
beyond it, where we could see the miller at 
work, all white and dusty, and watch the white 



sails moving slowly round. And on the way 
Julia told us stories, from Scott or Shakspere ; 
or gave us the plot of some opera, " Ernani" or 
" Trovatore," with snatches of song here and 
there, such as " Home to our mountains," "y]i 
jiostri ntonii iHornaremo.''' Whenever I hear this 
familiar air ground out by a hand-organ, every- 
thing fades from my eyes save a long, white road 
fringed with buttercups and wild marigolds, and 
five little figures, with rosy hungry faces, trudg- 
ing along, and listening to the story of the gypsy 
queen and her stolen troubadour. 

Julia wrote stories herself, too; very wonderful 
stories, we all thought, and, indeed, I think so 
still. She began when she was a little wee girl, 
not more than .six or seven years old. There 
lies beside me now on the table a small book, 
about five inches square, bound in faded pink 
and green, and filled from cover to co\er with 
writing in a cramped, childish hand. It is a 
book of novels and plays, written by our Julia 
before she was ten years old, and I often think 
that the beautiful and helpful things she wrote 
in her later years were hardly more remarkable 
than these queer little romances. They are very 
sentimental ; no child of eight, save perhaps 
Marjorie Fleming, was ever so sentimental as 
Julia. " Leonora Mayre, a Tale," " The Lo.st 
Suitor," "The Offers" — I must cjuote a scene 
from the last-named play : 

Scene I. 

Parlor at Mrs. Evans's. Florence Evans alone. 

Enter Annie. 

A. Well, Florence, Bruin is going to make an offer, T 
suppose. 



WHEN" I WAS Yr)L"R AGE. 



2 19 



K. Why !-o ? 

A. Here 's a pound of candy fioin him. He said he 
had bought it for you, but on nrriving he was 
afraid it was too trifling a gift, but hoping you 
would not throw it away, he requested me to give 
it to that virtuous young lady, as he call> you. 

K. Well, I am young, but I did not know that I wa> 
\ irtuous. 

A. I lliink you are. 

Scene II. 
Parlor. Mr. Bruin fl/w-v. 

Mr. B. Why does n't she come ? she does n't usually 
keep me waiting. 

Enter Fi.ORKNCE. 
F. How do you do? I am sorry to have kept you 

waiting. 
Mk. B. I have not been here more than a few minutes. 

Your parlor is so warm this cold day that I could 

wait. ILaughs. 

F. You sent me some candy the other day, which I 

liked very much. 
Mr. H. Well, you liked the candy, so I pleased you. 

Now you can please me. 1 don't care about 

presents, I had rather have something that can 

love me. You. 
F. I do not love you. [^x// Mr. Briin. 

Scene III. 

Florence fl/<7«^. EnUr Mr. Cas. 

F. How do you do ? 

Mr. C. Yery well. 

F. It is a very pleasant day. 

Mr. C. Yes. It would be still pleasanter if you will 

be my bride. I want a respectful refusal, but 

prefer a cordial acception. 
F. You can have the former. 

Scene IV. 

Florence with Mr. Emerson. 

Mr. K. I love you, Florence. You may not love me. 

for I am inferior to you, but tell me whether you 

do or not. If my hopes arc true, let mc know it, 

ami I shall not be doubtful any longer. If lluy 

arc not, tell me, and I sh.all not expect any more. 

K. Thevare. [/.'.r/V Mr. K.MERSON. 



The fifth scene of this remarkable drama 
is laid in the church, and is very thrilling. 
The stage directions are brief, but it is evident 
from the text that as Mr. Kmerson and his 
taciturn bride advance to the altar, Messrs. (.'as 
and Bruin, " to gain some private ends," do the 
same. The Hishop is introduced without previous 

announcement. 

Si ene Y. 

^.l^ln•^. .\re you ready? 
Mr. B. Yes. 



Bishoi'. Mr. Emerson, are you ready ? 

Mr. C. Yes. 

BisHOl'. Mr. P:merson, I am waiting. 

Br r I N and Cas, together. So am 1 . 

Mk. K. I am ready. But what have these men to do 

with our marriage ? 
Mk. B. Florence, I charge you with a breach of prom- 

i>e. You said you would be my bride. 
F. I did not. 
Mr. C. You promised me. 
F. When ? 

Mr. C. a month ago. You said you would marry me. 
Mr. B. a fortnight ago you promi-ed me. You said 

we would be married to-day. 
Mr. C. Bishop, what does this mean ? Florence Evans 

promised to marry me, and this very day was 

fixed upon. And see how false she has been ! 

She has, as you see, promised both of us, and now 

is going to wed this man. 
Bishop. But Mr. Emerson and Miss Evans made the 

arrangements with me ; how is it that neither of 

you said anything of it beforehand ? 
Mr. C I forgot. 

Mr. B. So di.l I. \y- «'''^/'•^• 

[>^«Av- Annik. 

A. I thought I should be too late to be your brides- 
maid, but I find I am in time. But I thought 
you were to be married at half-past four, and it is 
five by the church clock. 

Mr. E. We should have been married by this time, 
but these men say that Florence has promised to 
marry them. Is it true, Florence ? 

p X(i. [Bessy, her younger sister, supports hrr. 

A. It is nt true, for you know. Edward Bruin, that you 
and I are engaged, and Mr. Cas and Bessy have 
been, for some time. And both engagements 
have been out for more than a week. 

[Bessy looks reproachfnUy ot Cas. 

B. Why, Joseph Cas ! 
Bishop. I see that Mr. Cas and Mr. Bruin have been 

trving to worry your bride. But their story can't 
be true, for these other young l.idies say that they 
are engaged to them. 

F. They each of them ma»le me an offer, which I re- 
fused. [ 1 1'-^ Bishop nmrriis than. 

V. l.tfti-r th<v ,ir.- ntirn-i.-J.] I shall never again U- 
troubled with >uch offers [Wirs nt Cas <7M./ 
Briin] a> yours/ 



I meant to give one scene, and I have given 
the whole play, not knowing where to stoj). 
There was nothing funny about it to Julia. The 
heroine, with her wonderful commaml of silence, 
was her ideal of maiden reserve and dignity : 
the deep-dyed villainy of Bruin and Cas, the 
retiring manners of the fortunate Kmerson. the 
singular sprightliness of the Bishop were all jier- 
fertlv natural, as her vivid min<l -iw thoni. 



220 



WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE. 



[Jan. 



So, she was bitterly grieved one day, when a 
dear friend of the family, to whom our mother 
had read the play, rushed up to her, and seizing 
her hand, cried : 

" ' Julia, will you have me ? ' ' No ! ' Exit 
Mr. Bruin." Deeply grieved the little maiden 
was; and it cannot have been very long after 
that time that she gave the little book to her 
dearest aunt, who has kept it carefully through 
all these years. 

If Juha was like Milton's " Penseroso," Flossy 
was the " Allegro " in person, or like Words- 
worth's maiden: 

A dancing shape, an image gay, 
To haunt, to startle, and waylay. 

She was very small as a child. One day, a 
lady, not knowing that the little girl was 
within hearing, said to our mother, " What a 
pity Flossy is so small ! " 

" I 'm big inside ! " cried a little angry voice 
at her elbow; and there was Flossy, swelling 
with rage, like an offended bantam. And she 
7uas big inside ! her lively, active spirit seemed 
to break through the little body and carry it 
along in spite of itself. Sometimes it was an 
impish spirit ; always it was an enterprising one. 
■ She it was who invented the dances, which 
seemed to us such wonderful performances. We 
danced every evening in the great parlor, our 
mother playing for us on the piano. There was 
the " Macbeth " dance, in which Flossy figured 
as " Lady Macbeth." With a dagger in her 
hand, she crept and rushed and pounced and 
swooped about in a most terrifying manner, al- 
ways graceful as a fairy. A sofa-pillow played 
the part of " Duncan," and had a very hard 
time of it. The "Julius Caesar" dance was no 
less tragic ; we all took part in it, and stabbed 
right and left with sticks of kindling-wood. 
One got the curling-stick and was happy, for it 
was the next thing to the dagger, which no one 
but Flossy could have. Then there was the 
dance of the "Four Seasons," which had four 
figures. In spring we sowed, in summer we 
reaped ; in autumn we hunted the deer, and in 
winter there was much jingling of bells. The 
hunting figure was most exciting. It was per- 
formed with "knives" (kindling-wood), as Flossy 
thought them more romantic than guns; they 



were held close to the side, with point project- 
ing, and in this way we moved with a quick 
chasse step, which, coupled with a savage frown, 
was supposed to be peculiarly deadly. 

Flossy invented many other amusements, too. 
There was the school loan system. We had 
school in the Httle parlor at that time, and our 
desks had Hds that lifted up. In her desk 
Flossy kept a number of precious things, which 
she lent to the younger children for so many 
pins an hour. The most valuable thing was a 
set of three colored worsted balls, red, green, 
and blue. You could set them twirling, and 
they would keep going for ever so long. It was 
a delightful sport, but they were very expensive, 
costing, I think, twenty pins an hour. It took 
a long time to collect twenty pins, for of course 
it was not fair to take them out of the pin- 
cushions. 

Then there was a glass eye-cup without a 
base ; that cost ten pins, and was a great favorite 
with us. You stuck it in your eye, and tried to 
hold it there while you winked with the other. 
Of course all this was done behind the raised 
desk-lid, and I have sometimes wondered what 
the teacher was doing, that she did not find us 
out sooner. She was not very observant, and I 
am quite sure she was afraid of Flossy. One sad 
day, however, she caught Laura with the pre- 
cious glass in her eye, and it was taken away 
forever. It was a bitter thing to the child (I 
know all about it, for I was Laura) to be told 
that she could never have it again, even after 
school. She had paid her ten pins, and she 
could not see what right the teacher had to 
take the glass away. But after that the school 
loan system was forbidden, and I have never 
known what became of the three worsted balls. 

Flossy also told stories; or rather, she told 
one story which had no end, and of which we 
never tired. Under the sea, she told us, lived 
a fairy named Patty, who was a most inti- 
mate friend of hers, and whom she visited 
every night. This fairy dwelt in a palace hol- 
lowed out of a single immense pearl. The 
rooms in it were countless, and were furnished 
in a singular and delightful manner. In one 
room the chairs and sofas were of choco- 
late ; in another, of fresh strawberries ; in an- 
other, of peaches, and so on. The floors were 



1892.] 



WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE. 



I 



paved with squares of chocolate and cream 
candy, the windows were of transparent barley- 
sugar, and when you broke off the arm of a 
chair and ate it, or took a scjuare or two out of 
the pavement, they were immediately replaced, 
so that there was no trouble for any one. Patty 
had a ball every evening, and Flossy never 
failed to go. Sometimes, when we were good, 
she would take us, but the singular thing about 
it was that we never remembered what had 
happened. In the morning our infant minds 
were a cheerful blank till Flossy told us what a 
glorious time we had had at Patty's the night 
before, how we had danced with Willie Winkie, 
and how much ice-cream we had eaten. We lis- 
tened to the recital with unalloyed delight, and 
believed every word of it, till a sad day of awak- 
ening came. \\"e were always made to under- 
stand that we could not bring away anything 
from Patty's, and were content with this ar- 
rangement; but on this occasion there was to 
be a ball of peculiar magnificence, and Flossy, 
in a fit of generosity, told Harry that he was to 
receive a pair of diamond trousers, which he 
would be allowed to bring home. Harry was a 
child with a taste for magnificence, and he went 
to bed full of joy, seeing already in anticipation 
the glittering of the jeweled garment, and the 
effects produced by it on the small boys of his 
acquaintance. Bitter was the disai)i)ointment 
when, on awakening in the morning, the chair 
by his bedside bore only the fiimiliar brown 
knickerbockers with a patch of a lighter shade 
on one knee. Harry wept and would not be 
comforted ; and after that, though we still liked 
to hear the Patty stories, we felt that the magic 
of them was gone, that they were only stories, 
like "Bluebeard" or "Jack and the Beanstalk." 

Chapter II. 

MOKE .MtOUT OURSELVES. 

Jri.iA and Flossy did not content themselves 
with writing i)lays and telling stories. They 
as|)ired to making a language; a real language, 
which should be all their own, and .should have 
grammars and dictionaries like any other famous 
tongue. It was called Patagonian — whether 
with any idea of future missionary work among 
the people of that remote country, or merely 



because it sounded well, I cannot say. It was 
a singular language ; I wish more of it had sur- 
vived ; but I can give only a few of its more 
familiar phrases : 
]MiLLDAM — Yes. 

PiLLDAM No. 

MoucHE — Mother. 

Bis von snout ? — Are you well ? 

Brunk tu touchy snout — I am very well. 

Ching chu stick stumps? — W"\\\ you liave 
some doughnuts ? 

These fragments will, I am sure, make my 
readers regret deeply the loss of this language, 
which has the merit of entire originality. 

There were several dolls that should be men- 
tioned. " Vashti Ann " was named after a cook ; 
she belonged to Julia, and I have an idea that 
she was of a very haughty and disagreeable 
temj)er, though I cannot remember her personal 
appearance. Still more shadow)- is my recol- 
lection of " Eliza Viddipock," a name to be 
spoken with bated breath. Wliat dark crime this 
wretched doll had committed to merit her fear- 
ful fate, I do not know ; it was a thing not to 
be spoken of to the younger children, appa- 
rently. But I do know that she was hanged, 
with all solemnity of judge and hangman. It 
seems unjust that I should have forgotten the 
name of Julia's good doll, who died, and had 
the cover of the sugar-bowl buried with her, 
as a tribute to her virtues. 

" Sally Bradford" and "Clara" both belonged 
to Laura. Sally was an india-rubber doll; Clara 
a doll with a china head of the old-fashioned 
kind : smooth, shining black hair, brilliant rosy 
cheeks, and calm (very calm) blue eyes. I pre- 
fer this kind of doll to any other. Clara's life 
was an uneventful one, on the whole, and I 
remember onlv one remarkable thing in it. A 
little girl in the neighborhood invited Laura to 
a dolls'-party on a certain day ; she was to 
bring Clara by special recpiest. Creat was the 
excitement, for Laura was very small, and had 
never yet gone to a ]iarty. .\ seanvstress was 
in the house making the summer dres.ses, and 
our mother said that Clara should have a new 
frock for the party. It seemed a very wonder- 
ful thing to have a real, new white muslin frock, 
made by a real seamstress, for one's beloved 
doll. Clara had a beautiful white neck, so the 



222 



WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE. 



[Jan. 



frock was made low and trimmed with lace. 
When the afternoon came, Laura brought some 
tiny yellow roses from the greenhouse, and the 
seamstress sewed them on down the front of the 
frock and round the neck and hem. It is not 
probable that any other doll ever looked so 
beautiful as Clara when her toilet was com- 
plete. 

Then Laura put on her own best frock, which 
was not one half so fine, and tied on her gray 
felt bonnet, trimmed with quillings of pink and 
green satin ribbon, and started off, the proudest 
and happiest child in the whole world. She 
reached the house (it was very near) and climbed 
up the long flight of stone steps and stood on 
tiptoe to ring the bell ; then waited with a 
beating heart. Would there be many other 
dolls ? Would any of them be half so lovely as 
Clara? Would there — dreadful thought! — 
would there be big girls there? 

The door opened. If any little girls read this 
they will now be very sorry for Laura. There 
was no dolls'-party ! Rosy's mama (the little 
giri's name was Rosy) had heard nothing at all 
about it ; Rosy had gone to spend the afternoon 
Yv^ith Sarah Crocker. 

" Sorry, little girl ! What a pretty dolly ! 
Good-by, dear ! " and then the door was shut 
again. 

Laura toddled down the long stone steps, 
and went solemnly home. She did not cry, 
because it would not be nice to cry in the street ; 
but she could not see very clearly. She never 
went to visit Rosy again, and never knew 
whether the dolls'-party had been forgotten, or 
why it was given up. 

Before leaving the subject of dolls, I must 
say a word about litde Maud's first doll. Maud 
was a child of rare beauty, as beautiful as Julia, 
though very different. Her fair hair was of 
such color and quality that our mother used to 
call her Silk-and-silver, a name which suited her 
well ; her eyes were hke stars under their long 
black lashes. So brilliant, so vivid was the 
child's coloring that she seemed to flash with 
silver and rosy light as she moved about. She 
v/as so much younger than the others that in 
many of their reminiscences she has no share ; 
yet she has her own stories, too. A friend of 
our father's, being much impressed with this 



starry beauty of the child, thought it would be 
pleasant to give her the prettiest doll that could 
be found; accordingly he appeared one day 
with a wonderful creature, with hair almost like 
Maud's own, and great blue eyes that opened 
and shut, and cheeks whose steadfast roses 
did not flash in and out, but bloomed always. 
I think the doll was dressed in blue and sil- 
ver, but am not sure; she was certainly very 
magnificent. 

Maud was enchanted, of course, and hugged 
her' treasure, and went off with it. It happened 
that she had been taken only the day before to 
see the blind children at the institution near 
by, where our father spent much of his time. 
It was the first time she had talked with the 
little blind girls, and they made a deep im- 
pression on her baby mind, though she said 
httle at the time. As I said, she went oft' with 
her new doll, and no one saw her for some time. 
At length she returned, flushed and triumphant. 

" My dolly is blind, now ! " she cried ; and 
she displayed the dofl, over whose eyes she had 
tied a ribbon, in imitation of Laura Bridgman. 
" She is blind Polly ! — ain't got no eyes 't all ! " 

Alas ! it was even so. Maud had poked the 
beautiful blue glass eyes till they fell in, and 
only empty sockets were hidden by the green 
ribbon. There was a great outcry, of course, 
but it did not disturb Maud in the least. She 
wanted a blind doll, and she had one ; and no 
pet could be more carefully tended than was 
poor blind Polly. 

More precious than any doll could be, rises 
in my memory the majestic form of" Pistachio." 
It was Flossy, ever fertile in invention, who dis- 
covered the true worth of Pistachio, and taught 
us to regard with awe and reverence this object 
of her affection. Pistachio was an oval ma- 
hogany footstool, covered with green cloth of 
the color of the nut whose name he bore. I 
have the impression that he had lost a leg, but 
am not positive on this point. He was con- 
sidered an invahd, and every morning he was 
put in the baby-carriage and taken in solemn 
procession down to the brook for his morning 
bath. One child held a parasol over his sacred 
head (only he had no head!), two more pro- 
pelled the carriage, while the other two went 
before as outriders. No mirth was allowed 



iS92.] 



WHEN I WAS VOLR AGE. 



T T -> 

--0 



on this occasion, the solemnity of which was 
deeply impressed on us. Arrived at the brook, 
Pistachio was lifted from the carriage by his 
chief officer, Flossy herself, and set carefully 
down on the Hat stone beside the brook. His 
sacred legs were dipped one by one into the 
clear water, and dried with a towel. Happy was 
the child who was allowed to perform this func- 
tion ! After the bath, he was walked gently up 
and down, and rubbed, to assist the circulation ; 
then lie was put back in his carriage, and the 
procession started for home again, with the 
same gravity and decorum as before. The 
vounger children felt sure there was some mys- 
tery about Pistachio. I cannot feel sure, even 
now, that he was nothing more than an ordi- 
nary oval cricket; but his secret, whatever it 
was. has perished with him. 

1 perceive that 1 have said little or nothing 
thus far about Harry ; yet he was a very im- 
portant member of the family. The only boy : 
and such a boy ! He w as by nature a Very 
Imp, such as has been described by Mr. Stock- 
ton in one of his delightful stories. Xot two 
years old was he when he began to pull the 
tails of all the little dogs he met. — a habit 
which he long kept u[). The love of mischief 
was deei>ly rooted in him. It was not safe to 
put him in the closet for misbehavior; for he 
cut oft" the jjockets of the dresses hanging there, 
and snipped the fringe oft" his teacher's best 
shawl ; yet he was a sweet and aftectionate child, 
with a tender heart, and sensitive withal. When 
about four \ears old, he had the habit of 
summoning our father to breakfast; and, not 
being able to say the word, would announce. 
'• Brescott is ready 1 " This excited mirth among 
the other children, which he never could stand ; 
accordingly, one morning he appeared at the 
door of the dressing-room and said solemnly. 
"Papa, your food is preparetll" 

.At tlie age of six, Harry determined to marry, 
and oft'ered his hand and heart to Mary, the 
nurse, an excellent woman, some thirty years 
older than he. He sternly forbaile her to sew 
or do other nurser)' work, saying that his wife 
must not work for her living, .\bout this time, 
too, he told our mother that he thought he felt 
his beard growing. 

]]'• was just two years older than Laura, 



and the tie between them was ver\- close. 
Laura's first question to a stranger was always, 
''Does you know my bulla Hally? I hope you 
does I " and she was truly sorry for any one who 
had not that privilege. 

The two children slept in tiny rooms ad- 
joinmg each other. It was both easy and pleas- 
ant to "talk across" while lying in bed. when 
they were supposed to be sound asleep. Neither 
liked to give up the last word of greeting, and 
they would sometimes say '" Good night ! " 
'•(iood night!" over and over, backward and 
forward, for ten minutes together. In general, 
Harry was very kind to Laura, playing with 
her, and protecting her from any roughness of 
neighbor children. (They said "bunnit" and 
"apurn." and ''I wunt." and we were fond ot 
correcting them, which the\- not brooking, cjuar- 
rels were apt to ensue.) But truth comjiels me 
to icll of one occasion on whiih Harry did 
not show a l)rotherly spirit. In the garden, 
under a great birch-tree, stood a trough for 
watering the horses. It was a large and deep 
trough, and always full of beautiful, clear water. 
It was pleasant to lean over the edge, and 
see the sky and the leaves of the tree reflected 
as if in a crystal mirror ; to see one's own 
rosy, freckled face, too. and make other faces; 
to see which could open eyes or mouth 
widest. 

Now one day, as litde Laura, being perhaps 
four years old, was hanging over the edge of 
the trough, forgetful of all save the delight of 
gazing, it chanced that Harry came up behind 
her; and the spirit of mischief that was always in 
him triumphed over brotherly aft'ection. ami he 

*' Ups with her lieeU, 
And smothers her squeals," 

in the clear, cold water. 

Laura came up gasping and putting, her hair 
streaming all over her round flice. her evc*s star- 
ing with wonder and fright I 

By the time helj) arrived, as it fortunately 
did, in the i)erson of Thomas the gardener, 
poor Laura was in a deplorable condition, 
half choked with water, and frightened neaHy 
out of her wits. 

Thomas carried tlie dripping cliild to the 
house and put her into Mary's kind arms, and 



224 



WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE, 



then reported to our mother what Harry had misdeed Harry was put to bed at once, and our 

done. mother, sitting beside him, gave him what we used 

We were almost never whipped; but for this tocalla"talking to," which he did not soon forget. 

( To be contimied. ) 





By ^udora S. Bumsteaxi. 



x±y dovlino Dolly is oi^e AveeK oM; — 

Her iorehead i^ lair* and creamy , 
Her cheeKs are pink aj\3. her Kai'r is <?old , 

.A.r\d Ker eyes are deiril and dreamy. 
SKes Jovely emd Sweet as she Can be ; 

S}\e\ oaiita Claus own little dau^oKtei^ 
3ut she came to me on the Christmas Tree: 

How oJad I am tKat he brovi^Kt her \ 





never am loneiy sirxce she came , 
vAnd the only trouble WltK me is 
- TKot I Kavent beeii able to find a neune 
Oixe half a5 pretty as she is . 
Lama '5 in favor of Isabel ; 
^nd papa SayS Betsy or ToHy ! 
A.nd Ive tnoLi^Kt 2ind. tKou-jht and ma^te — 
I^uessl shall call her' DolJy. [^^^^' 




MOTHER GOOSE IN SILHOUETTE. 



By Katherine Baldwin Robertson. 

WITH AN INTRODUCTORY LETTER FROM JOSEPH JEFFERSON. 



Philadelphia. seated on the floor and surrounded by a host of 
Mv De^r St. Nicholas: In introducing to children of various sizes. Little Katie had re- 
vou my young friend Miss Katie Robertson, the moved the extinguisher from her head, which 
artist of the " Mother Goose Silhouettes," I de- was adorned with golden hair, and in her hand 
sire to relate the circumstances which first re- she held a pair of scissors, with which she busied 
vealed to me this voung ladv's peculiar gift. It herself and interested her eager audience by 
was during my first visit to the Teche country in cutting out with wonderful dextenty long rows 
lower Louisiana. Upon landing from the c^ueer of dolls from an old newspaper. I naturally 
little stern-wheel steamer that brought us up the expected to see a string of those conventional 
bayou I was introduced to Mr. William Robert- babies clinging to each other with outstretched 
son who with characteristic Southern hospitality arms and looking like so many twins, but 
invited me to lunch with himsclfand family. As on examination I discovered that the skill ol 
we approarhe<l the house, his little daughter ran the little artist avoided too great a tam.ly re- 
toward her father and with outstretched arms semblance between the children. Tall, short, 
greeted him with a kiss. This afTectionate wel- thin, fat, laughing, and crying; many m gro- 
come was performed with some difficulty, as the tesque and awkward attitudes: some posed 
deensunbonnetinwhichherchildishfacewasem- with perfect grace, and each and all breathing 
bedded made it as difficult for her father to reach life and character. The busy little hands and 
it as if she had been at the other end ..f a tunnel. Hashing scissors worked with wonderful rapid- 
After luncheon I walked out ui.on the broad ity-cut. slash, snip-and lo! we had a whole 
veranda of the house, where I found the child menagerie of wild animals and a barn-yard ot 
Vol. XIX. — 15. "5 



226 



MOTHER GOOSE IN SILHOUETTE. 



[Jan. 




"jack spratt could eat no fat and his wife could eat no lean.' 



domestic ones, in a jifFy. Where could a little 
child of five years of age have seen and received 
so clear an impression of all these things, and 
whence came the dexterity to form them ? This, 
I said to myself, is genius, intuition ; there 
has been no time to learn it. I predicted that 
some artistic excellence would come of this, and 
I do not believe that I was mistaken. A letter 



will reveal to your young readers better than 
I can how charmingly the artist does her 
work. Still, I would like to point out certain 
touches that strike me as being particularly 
marked and original. Jack Spratt and his 
wife, for instance, how jolly and plump is the 
little woman, and how mean and stingy is the 
man, as if his dislike to fat was more from 




yi"/'S»:'^/,ii,.,^,...iay.' W' i^/'^tf^Z'^ 



"if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride." 

written to me by the artist and now before me, economy than taste ! In the silhouette " If 

says, " You gave me the first pair of scissors I wishes were horses, then beggars would ride," 

ever owned." I am proud of this, for by her note the contrast between the fantastic refine- 

own confession she is my protegee. Her pic- ment of my lord and my lady and the vulgar 

tures, which you now publish for the first time, aspect of the beggars who tramp after them. 



1892.] 



MOTHER GOOSE IX SILHOUETTE. 



227 




K I 





"TOM, TOM, THE IlriiKS SON, LEARNED TO PLAV WHEN HE WAS VOL Nti, 

AND ALL THE Tl'NE THAT HE COULD PLAV WAS 'OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY.'" 

See how the figures dance as the piper's son plays all, behold the maid of honor bearing the pipe to 
the pipe ! The pig leaps firom the ground, and the her king — with what grace she moves, and how 
very birds in the air catch the infection and dainty are her tapering fingers. Her back is 

toward us, but we know that she is beautiful. 
In her bewitching carriage there is the lady of 
the court; no cringing to the king. She ofters 
the pipe, quite conscious of her own dignity, as 
if she whispered to herself, " Who knows ? some 
day I may be queen ! " 




•■old KINl. COLE WAS A MKKRV OLD SOl'L, ANII A MKKKV OLD M)l L »Ah HK — 

HE CALLED FOR HIS IMPK, AND MB CALLED FOR HIS nowl , AND HE CALLKl" FOK HIS FIDDLERS THREE. 

cai)er rather than tly. In the jjicture of" Old Indeed, I am right glad that you are the first 

King Cole " the figures are most elocjuent. See to i)ublish the work of my old young friend, and 

with what regal dignity the old monarch " calls I congratulate the little lady on finding a pa- 

for his pipe, and calls for his bowl, and calls for tron saint so kind as good Sr. Nicholas. 
his fiddlers three." Mark the jester, how care- Faithfully yours, 

fully he bears the steaming jnmch ; and. above Joseph Jefferson. 



228 



MOTHER GOOSE IN SILHOUETTE. 



[Jan. 




;" WHERE ARE YOU GOING, MY PRFTTV tl,a„^9. 
'IM GOING A-MILKING, SIR,' LhE s/ia" " ' 



't^. 










■>> 



\ 



1892.1 



MOTHKR GOOSE IX SILHOUETTE. 



!29 




'peter, peter, plmpkin-eater, had a wife and coiLD n't keep her. 

HE PUT HER IN A PLMPKIN-SHELL, AND THEKE HE KEPT HER VERV WELL.' 




TAKKY WAS A WELSHMAN, TAFKV WAS A THIEK — 

TAFFV CAME To MY HOL'SE AND STOLE A PIECE OF BEEF. 




CROSS-PATCH, DRAW THB I.ATCH. MT BV THE FINE ANU SPIN 
TAKE A Cl'P, AND DRINK IT I'P — 
THEN CALL 1 HK NFIGHBORS IN." 











^-^vc^ 



.45^ 



By Pearl Rivers. 



Old Mistress Chestnut once lived in a burr 
Padded and lined with the softest of fur. 

Jack Frost split it wide with his keen silver knife, 
And tumbled her out at the risk of her life. 



Here is Don Almond, a grandee from Spain, 
Some raisins from Malaga came in his train. 

He has a twin brother a shade or two leaner, 
When both come together we shout, " Philopena ! 



This is Sir Walnut ; he 's English, you know, 
A friend of my Lady and Lord So-and-So. 

Whenever you ask old Sir Walnut to dinner. 

Be sure and have wine for the gouty old sinner. 



Little Miss Peanut, from North Carolina. 

She 's not 'ristocratic, but no nut is finer. 
Sometimes she is roasted and burnt to a cinder. 

In Georgia they call her Miss Goober, or Pinder. 



Little Miss Hazelnut, in her best bonnet. 
Is lovely enough to be put in a sonnet; 

And young Mr. Filbert has journeyed from Kent, 
To ask her to marry him soon after Lent. 





230 





LITTLE NUT PEOPLE. 

This is old Hickory ; look at him well. 

A general was named for him, so I 've heard tell. 
Take care how you hit him. He sometimes hits back ! 

This stolid old chap is a hard nut to crack. 



231 



Old Mr. Butternut, just from Brazil, 

Is rugged and rough as the side of a hill ; 

But like many a countenance quite as ill-favored, 
His covers a kernel deliciously flavored. 




Here is a Southerner, graceful and slim. 

In flavor no nut is quite equal to him. 
Ha, Monsieur Pecan, you know what it means 

To be served with black coffee in French New Orleans. 



Dear little Chinkapin, modest and neat. 
Is n't she cunning and is n't she sweet ? 

Her skin is as smooth as a little boy's chin. 
And the squirrels all chatter of Miss Chinkapin. 




And now, my dear children, I "111 sure I have told 
All the (juecr rhymes that a nutshell can hold. 



rill- RKWARI) Ol' THl-: CHHRRFUL CANDLE. 



By MaKV V. WoRSTELL. 



Once upon a time two little candles lay .side Christmas tree? " (For you must know that 

by side in a big box. Both were pure white. to be put on a Christmas tree is the best possi- 

Saitl one: '• I wonder what will become of ble thing that can ha|ipen to a candle.) 
us? Do you think we could be meant for a "Of course not!'' said the other, who was 



232 



THE REWARD OF THE CHEERFUL CANDLE. 



cross. " If we are meant for a Christmas tree 
it will be for some shabby httle children, — see 
if it is n't." 

" If we are," said the first, " I '11 shine my 
very brightest ; for the eyes of even poor chil- 
dren with only few pleasures in prospect are 
enough to rival little candles on Christmas eve." 

" If we are," grumbled the second, " I am not 
sure that I will allow myself to be lighted at 
all." 

Christmas eve drew nearer and nearer. Sure 
enough, the two litde candles, with many others 
of blue and pink and yellow and red, were 
bought for a Christmas tree. 

On the day before Christmas, while it still 
was daylight, some young girls came to arrange 
the presents, and make the 
tree ready for the evening. 

'• Oh, what a lot of pretty 
litde candles ! " said one of 
them. " They are such 
lovely colors, — all except 
those two white ones. 
We will put those out 
of sight, because the 
red and pink ones are 
prettier." 



"Did n't I tell you what would happen?" 
said the cross little candle, in a whisper. 

"Yes; but wait," replied the other. "Just 
shine your brightest all the time." 
" I won't ! " snapped the cross one. 
When evening came, ranged all round the 
tree were happy boys and girls. Soon every 
bough on the great tree blossomed with little 
lights. Some of the flames were faint, but 
many were bright. When the little white can- 
dles were hghted, the cross one just sputtered 
a minute, and then went out. The other shone 
so brightly that a gentleman standing near 
said: 

" Oh, what a brilliant little candle — but it 
is almost out of sight among the green branches. 
We ought to put it where it 
can be seen better." 

" Put it on the very tip- 
top," said a little lady. 

And that is where they 
did put it — on the very 
tiptop of the tree, where 
it nodded and gleamed in 
answer to the smiling faces, 
all around it. 



/ 





'•f^. 
'■•.% 



V 
v. 



THE barp:foot dance. 



Bv Alice M. Kellogg. 




Zuo AM) Joe are i^oing- to bed. Their cribs are side by side in the big 
nursery. I'Vom the window Joe sees the Hghts, one, two, three, four, in a 
big lioiise across the river ; he liears the water dash oxer the dam and go 
down with a roar. Zoo is watching- the wood-fire that is burning: on the 
hearth. She hkes to sec the little sparks creej) up the chinincy, — "people 
on their way to church," grandpa calls thcni. 

" One, two, free, one." Zoo counts. 

Joe runs from the window and says. "One, two, thvvQ, /o//r. Zoo." 

When the children are read)- for bed, llu-y staml before the pretty fire 
and take each other's hands. Then the\- tlancc- artuuKl and annind u|)on the 
soft rug, and mama claps hei- hands and sings: 

" ( )li. tor tliL- mcrrv barefoot dance I 
Barefoot children skip and prani e, 

" Once more. Mama," asks Jt)t', and mama sings again and claps her hands. 
" Now dance away to bed," she says, and the children scamper off and 
jump into their cribs. 



Skip and prance, white feet glance. 
Oh, for the nierrv barefoot dance!" 



233 



234 



JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT. 



[Jan. 




About four hundred years ago, my friends, this 
now highly intelhgent earth, while revolving round 
the sun (though its inhabitants did n't know it at 
the time), rolled right into a date that has become 
one of the most famous periods of its kind ever 
known. I allude to the year 1492. I '11 venture to 
say, now, that the members of this congregation 
are quite as familiar with that date as with any 
other in the world's history. You feel a sort of 
right in it, so to speak; a sense of satisfaction 
sometimes mounting to enthusiasm. In brief, you 
are supposed, in this four-hundredth anniversary 
year, to have a wild desire to learn all about it, and 
the grown folk do not intend that you shall be 
disappointed, if they can help it. Therefore, your 
Jack will be happy, during the coniing twelve 
months, to amuse and refresh you occasionally 
with simple facts and incidents entirely outside 
of the remarkable and distinguished date under 
consideration. 

So here is a nice little sea-story — true, too — 
that the Deacon related only yesterday to a few of 
the Red School-house children. It happened over 
forty years before 1492, so we are safe: 

A TRUE STORY. 

It appears that a bright little fifteenth-century 
Italian boy, a son of humble and honest parents, 
was possessed by a strong desire to go to sea; and 
so, when he was about fourteen years of age, he 
was allowed to make his first voyage. Of course, 
there was no such thing as steam-navigation in 
those days, so this boy went on a sailing-ship, and a 
pretty mean one at that. At the start he was as 
proud and happy a little mariner as one could wish 
to see. But trouble came. The ship caught fire, 
and as this Italian boy never had heard of your old 
friend Casablanca, and the situation was desperate, 
he sprang overboard. Fortunately, he caught 
hold of an oar, and with its assistance he deter- 



mined to swim all the way to land, wherever it 
might be. 

It was a hard tussle with the waves for a boy of 
fourteen, but he had grit and resolution, and, in 
short, there was other work waiting for him some- 
where, he knew. So he swam on for a mile, then 
another — and another — and another — and an- 
other — and finally, persevering manfully, he ac- 
complished the sixth mile, and reached the land 
in safety ! 

I believe in that boy ; and I 'd like to know 
what became of him in later years — what he ac- 
complished ; what he suffered ; whether he was a 
benefactor to his race or not. Who can tell me 
about him? • 

Meantime, let us consider the strangeness of 

cows WEARING BLUE SPECTACLES. 

Deacon Green says he has never happened to 
meet with one of this special breed of Bostonian 
cows, but he has placed upon my pulpit an extract 
from a letter, which he thinks is well worth read- 
ing to you, my beloved : 

During the past year thousands of cows in Russia 
have been seen wearing blue spectacles ! Yes, blue glass 
was obtained from Vienna, Paris, and London for the 
purpose, because Vienna alone could not supply the quan- 
tity required. 

It must have been a funny sight. But it was not funny 
to the cows. They, poor things, had suffered so much 
from the blinding effect of light upon the snow that their 
eyes became diseased, and, to help them, the experiment 
of making them wear blue spectacles was tried, and with 
good results, I am told. 

So you see some kinds of animals are kindly cared for 
in that far land of the Czar. 

A PIECE OF RUDENESS. 

The naughtiest boy in the Red School-house 
goes about asking helpless girls and boys how it 
happens that we are to have another 1890. 

" But we 're not," reply the poor children. 

" But you «r^," insists the naughty boy. 
"There 's to be a new 1890 as sure as you live." 

" How do you make that out ? " sharply put in 
the Deacon, this very morning. 

" Why," replied the naughty boy, " did n't we 
have 1890 a year or so ago? " 

" Certainly," said the Deacon. 

"Very well, sir. Is n't the new year going 
to be 1890 too? " 

The Deacon walked slowly away. 

who knows ? 

San Francisco, Cai.., 1891. 
Dear Jack : Here is a little matter which I beg 
to lay before your very observant crowd of young 
folk : When the snow began to melt last winter, 
I found a great number of little mounds of dry 
grass which ]n-oved to be nests. They were closed 
on top and had small openings at one side, from 
which paths led in all directions. It was easy to 
see that these had been tunnels when the snow 
covered the ground. In several places near by I 



J2.] 



JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT. 



235 



He never has 



% 



r 



f 



found little heaps of roots nicely gnawed into con- 
venient sizes, and all ready for use. 

Doubtless many of your boys and girls will 
know at once to whom these cozy homes belong, 
but I am as yet woefully ignorant on the subject. 

Will somebody please enlighten me? 

Very sincerely, K. H. 

THE KINKAJOU. 

Dear Jack : May I introduce to your favorable notice 
my friend Mr. Kinkajou of South America. Circum- 
stances prevent his visiting you personally, but the ac- 
companying picture will show you exactly how he looks. 

Indeed, his absence is timely, for it enables me to 
tell you of many of his charming qualities, which would 
embarrass him if he were present. 

To begin with, he is jiuiely American, 
been found 0)i the Eastern hemisphere, 
though certain distant relatives of his 
make their homes there. 

In size the kinkajou resembles a large 
cat. From liis picture you might fancy 
he belonged ; to the monkey tribe, but 
the bear family claim him. His long tail 
is very useful in climbing from tree to 
tree, for he can liang or swing by it as 
easily as any monkey. In captivity he 
coils it round and round, till it looks 
like a thick mat, and he uses it as a 
blanket or mattress, whichever he chooses. 

His tongue is remarkable in that it is 
very long. In his native haunts he lives 
on insects and sweet fruits; and when 
he finds wild honey he considers himself 
very lucky indeed. His liking for this 
dainty has given him another name — 
"honey-bear." In obtaining the honey 
stored in crevices of rock or hollow trees 
his long tongue is very useful — in fact, 
he could not do without it. 

His head is round, and liis ears are 
like those of a cat, and, like the cat, his 
habits are nocturnal. His fur is a tawny- 
yellow, a trifle darker on the back than 
underneath. 

But, beautiful as he is to look at, he 
is good as he is beautiful. Though when 
caught and tamed he longs for his native 
land and liisTree, happy lite in the forest, 
he is a pattern for the most particular. He is not mis- 
chievous ; he is neat, he is good-tempered, and as loving 
and aft'ectionate as a child. 

One of these really beautiful creatures, owned by a 
lady, wxs one night seeking some sweet food of which 
he was extremely fond. He fancied that it was concealed 
in some vase on the parlor mantel. Instead of smashing 
all the bric-a-brac, as a monkey would have done, he 
took one vase at a time, examine<l it (with his tongue, I 
fear), and then set it carefully on the floor. Pictures, 
too, were examined, were actually taken from the 
walls, and i>lnced gently on the floor beside the vases. 

In the nwrning, when his owner entered the room, 
she found no more mischief done tlian an absolutely 
new arrangement of her choice ornaments anil en- 
gravings. 



Mr. Kinkajou has one rather bad habit which I will 
touch upon briefly. Sometimes, in the forests, he has 
been known to snatch mother-birds out of their nests 
with those deft little claws of his, and drmk the contents 
of their eggs; still, so long as this bad practice is confined 
to his home we will not censure him too severely, but 
think, with gratitude, of our own lack of faults both at 
home and abroad. 

For fear all of your congregation will at once send 
orders for a kinkajou, I must tell you that his home is 
in Guiana, Venezuela, and the United States of Colom- 
bia. Like the monkey, he has always been accustomed 
to the warm, moist climate of the tropical forests, and he 
does not long survive a removal to a colder countrv. 

M. V. W. 

A PINK BEAR AND A WHITE FROG. 

Your Jack has no wish to join the exiles in 
Siberia, but if it is true, as a Portland newspaper 



3 



^ 





■V'** 

^\>'-^ 



THE KINKAJOU. 

said, that an enormous polar bear with bright 
pini- fur has been captured in that country, and 
that it is to bo sent as a present to the Czar of 
Russia, Jack would be glad to make a s/r,'rf visit 
to Siberia — that strange land where there is a 
pink polar bear! Nature has queer fancies now 
and then, my dears. Wliy, I have been informed 
on very good authority that a live white frog was 
exhibited last spring at a meeting of the Linnean 
Society of London — an albino frog, they called it. 
I can see it now, rolling its great pink eyes co- 
quettishly at the learned men bending over it and 
declaring it to be one of the very rarest things they 
ever bad seen. 




ON CHRISTMAS DAY. 

(Old 7uords set to jieiv music.) 



By Julian Mount. 



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236 



THE LETTER-BOX. 



We thank " two young readers of St. NICHOLAS " for 
a beautiful photograph showing them reading the Maga- 



zine. 



Kobe, Japan. 

My Dear St. Nicholas: Have you ever been in a 
typhoon ? because if not you may like to hear of one that 
took place in Kobe on the night of the i6th of August. 
The weather had been lovely but very hot, and we jeered 
at the weather-hall which had been up for two days warn- 
ing ships not to put out to sea. The storm was gathering 
all Sunday, and about eight o'clock in the evening it 
came upon us in full force. All our windows and shut- 
ters are very strong, but we had to barricade them all 
inside as if for a siege; and truly it was like a siege. The 
din was awful, and above it all we could hear the signals 
of distress from the bay, but knew that no help could 
be given. It was a fearful night. At daybreak the wind 
had died down, and we opened the house, almost afraid 
to look out. Our beautiful garden was a wreck, trees 
were blown down in all directions, and not a flower was 
left standing; but this was nothing to what met our view 
when we rode down to the harbor. We did nothing but 
exclaim all the way. The streets were full of the wrecks 
of sampans and junks (Japanese boats), and enormous 
planks of wood and masts of ships had been jammed up 
against the houses in front of the bay. The sea-wall 
was gone in many places, and the Bund, which is a 
pretty lawn in front of the bay, was piled with wrecks of 
steam-launches, roofs of houses, and uprooted trees, and 
a big ocean-steamer was on the rocks. Nothing was left 
of the P. and O. dock except the iron foundations. Many 
lives were lost among the Japanese, but several lives 
were saved in front of the hotel, and for hours the streets 
were waist-deep in water. 

I am afraid this is a rather long letter, but there is so 
much to tell. 

I remain, dear Sr. Nicholas, your constant reader, 

Frances .Maid McG . 



Denver, Col. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I have taken you for a year, 
and have enjoyed you very much. 

I.ast summer we went to Canada and had a very pleas- 
ant tri]i, and this summer we went to Manitou Springs, 
which also was pleasant. I have l)cen in Denver about 
three years, and every winter have missed the sleigh- 
riding, coasting, and tol>ogganing that I had when I 
lived in Canaila three winters ago. Manitou Sjirings, 
at the base of Pike's Peak, is a very pretty little place. 
When we were there we took many rides, and lhe>e are 
some of the places we went to: Garden of the (ifwls, 
Cheyenne Canon, Iron Springs, Rainlxnv Falls, and the 
Cog Railway ^ which runs to the summit of Pike's Peak, 
over fourteen thousand feet high), all of which present 
very curious and wonderful puints of intere>t. 

I like to read the interesting letters from boys and 
girls in the St. Nicholas " Letter-box." 

When I was in Manitou .Springs I had some fun rid- 



ing on a donkey. I have no brothers nor sisters, and 
sometimes I am very lonely. I go to Wolfe Hall. Papa 
is the warden of both Wolfe Hall and Jarvis Hall ; these 
are two large boarding-schools, four miles apart, the 
former being for girls, the latter a military academy for 
bovs. I am vour faithful little reader, 

F. Mabel B . 



Englewood, III. 
Dear St. Nicholas: 1 am a little boy nine years 
old. Vou have been in our family about seventeen years, 
and so I am going to write you a letter. We have a 
small printing-press which I like to play with very much. 
I am going to learn telegraphing. I have a small dog 
named Tip and a cat named Buttercup. 

Good-bv. Parker. 



CoBiRG, Germany. 
Dear St. Nichol.\s: This is the first time any of us 
has written to you, but my eldest brother has taken you 
since 1880. I like all your stories very much. I am a 
little girl eleven years old, and I have four brothers and 
three sisters. We are staying in Coburg at present, 
which I like very much ; it is such a pretty old town, 
with an old castle overlooking it. I have traveled in Eu- 
rope a great deal, and seen many interesting places. Vou 
do not know how impatient we are for you to arrive; we 
even count the days. 

I am your constant little reader, 

Be.\trice B . 



Gi LNARE, Las Animas, Col. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am an .\merican l>oy ten years 

old. I enjov all vour stories. I think " The Fortunes 

of Toby TraiTord "' is the best. I like •' Chan Ok," too. 

The Indians were on our ranch only six years before 

we came. 

From your loving reader, M.\LCOL.M L . 



IXWORTH, St FKOLK, ENr.I_\Nn. 

Dear .St. Nicholas: In our school-room we have 
three green French frogs. They eat flies : it is very 
curious to sec them catch flies. When we put a fly into 
the .nquarium, sometimes they will jump and take it out 
of our hands, and sometimes we drop it into the .aqua- 
rium they live in, and let them catch it. They wait till it 
moves for fear it shouUl be dead, for they never eat a dead 
fly. When the fly moves they jump. They take very 
good .-lim, and hardly ever miss. When it is dusk, they 
iike to croak ; it is a very ugly noise. I think they like 
music, liecause often, when somebody is playing upon the 
piano, as soon as the nlaving stops they croak. In winter 
we have to put a sckI of earth in the aquarium for them 
to go to sleep in till the spring. I was very interested 
in "Toby Trafford." I am twelve years old. 

I remain vour sincere admirer, HiLD.A. T . 



'J7 



238 



THE LETTER-BOX. 



Fort McIntosh, Texas. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have been visiting my grandpa 
all summer, and I had a very pleasant time. We went 
out driving or down-town 'most every day. We went 
to the theater and we saw some Lilliputians. They 
played a very pretty play ; the tallest one was a great 
deal taller than the rest, and she was only thirty-seven 
inches high, and the shortest was only twenty-eight inches 
high. We went into Chinatown, and visited a great 
many places, but we remained on one street, so did not 
see much. What we did see was very interesting ; we 
went to a store where they had fancy things. I saw a 
satchel which was made of wood ; it is opened by the 
handle ; you take the handle out of a place made for it, 
and then the top springs open. On our way here we 
stopped at Redoak, a small place eighteen miles from Los 
Angeles, on the coast. We went in bathing every day, 
and I got knocked down three or four times by the break- 
ers. Then we stopped at Fort Bliss, a mile from El 
Paso (The Pass), and there I had a very nice time, as I 
knew everybody there. We went across the river to 
Juarez (pronounced Wharez). It was a very queer place, 
the streets were narrow, and there were hardly any side- 
walks. From there we came here. 

Yours truly, Winnie M. P . 



ahead of us, and at last we moved here. I do not like 
this place so well. I have one little playmate, and we 
have lots of fun riding burros. 

Your loving little friend, Mary S. P . 



Chicago, III. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I have taken you for over eight 
years. My little sister Maia wrote a poem about " Lit- 
tle Lord Fauntleroy," and 1" illustrated it. I have three 
sisters and two brothers : Maia, Trixie, and Lisa are the 
girls, Laurie and Harold the boys. I go to a private 
school, and shall be graduated in '93. 

I have a parrot from Cuba for a pet. Our family is 
very musical : Maia (thirteen years) plays the mandolin ; 
Lisa (eighteen) the harp; and Laurie and I the violin. 
Harold has a banjo, and Trixie (ten) plays the " bones " 
when she dances ; mama plays the piano and papa a 
cornet ; and mama and I sing soprano and Lisa alto. 
We have concerts every night. 

Our papa is Spanish- French, and mama is Spanish. I 
bear her name. We are all brunettes except Maia, who 
has lovely golden curls. Many people tell her she looks 
like Elsie Leslie, whom we met in New York. Besides 
our Chicago home we have a chateau near the Pyrenees 
in Spain. I love it much ; also Paris, where I was born. 
With love, dear St. Nick, I am your friend, 

Manuelita Rene M . 



Fort Bliss, El Paso, Texas. 
Dear St. Nicholas : My papa is in the army and 
we have to move very often. We had a very long move 
from Fort Mackinac to San Antonio. It took us five 
days and a half. I like the army very much and would 
not leave it for anything. Fort Mackinac was very old ; 
it was built by the British in 1 780. Our house was very 
queer ; there were a great many old block-houses and 
other old places ; it was a very pretty place, and there 
were a great many curiosities on the island. There 
were Arch Rock and Sugar-loaf and a great many other 
things. We used to go wading in the lake very often 
and also would go boating on the lake. San Antonio is 
a very old place too; it is the headquarters of our regi- 
ment. The post is lovely ; the houses are all new. From 
there we moved to Davis, which was twenty-two miles 
from the railroad, and we had to ride in ambulances. 
There used to be dust-storms so that we could not see 



Far Rockawav, L. I. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Mama and I composed a story, 
without using a dictionary, with words beginning only 
with S: 

SARAH SIMONDS'S SCHOLARS. 

Sarah Simonds sought some Sunday-school scholars. 
" Scholars seldom sit still " said she, so she selected six, 
straightforward, sober, steady, serious, save Stella Stark's 
small sister Susan. Susan seemed stubborn, sullen. 
Stella started scolding. Seeing she seemed sorry, soon 
stopped — said sweet, soothing sentences. 

Soon she seemed satisfied, serene. So Stella spun 
some startling stories. She said she saw seven ships 
sailing southward Sunday. 

Suddenly she saw some ships slowly sinking. She 
screamed several seconds. Strangely she saw six sailors 
swim swiftly shoreward, seeking succor. Sad scene ! Six 
sole survivors ! She simply said, " Sabbath-breaking ! " 

Susan sighed. 

Beth C. T . 



Reading, Pa. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I thought perhaps the readers 
of "A School-girl's Recollections of Hans Christian An- 
dersen," in the October number, would like to know that 
the story is quite true, and I have even heard Fraiilein 
Rosa tell it. I spent the winter of 1887-88 in Dresden, 
and I spent all the time I was there with the author of the 
delightful tale. After supper we would all go into the 
salon and beg her to tell us the story, and when she did 
she showed the flowers and verse — the former carefully 
pressed, and she is very proud of them One day Fraii- 
lein Schmalz took us to the house where she had the 
birthday party. It is a dear little house, high uji on the 
mountain, with a beautiful view of the Elbe. Dresden 
is a beautiful and quaint old city, but is not at all clean- 
looking on account of the soft coal the people burn. It 
has one of the very finest picture-galleries in the world. 
It contains the " Sistine Madonna," the most celebrated 
of Raphael's Madonnas. Unfortunately I was only 
nine yearS old then, and it is very seldom children 
under twelve years of age are admitted, so I did not see 
as much of it as I wished to. There is a beautiful park 
there called the Grosser Garten, which is over two hun- 
dred acres in size. It has a great many flower-betls, 
which have different flowers put into them about twice a 
week. The garden is full of beautiful walks and drives. 
In winter it is especially nice, for there are many skatiiig- 
ponds. Many of the German families get their break- 
fasts in the cafes. I went to a German school, but it was 
very difierent from American ones. We never had any 
school in the afternoon, but always on Saturday. I think 
I would rather have it in the afternoon and then have 
Saturday to myself. I enjoy St. Nicholas very much. 

Nelly Oliver B . 



W^E thank the young friends whose names follow for 
pleasant letters received from them: Tom B., Tom R., 
Eleanor G., Adeline L., Leslie A. F., Rebecca W. N., 
Eliza C, " Yum-yum," Julna F. S., Anna, Emma O. 



THE RIDDLE BOX 





ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE DECEMBER NUMBER. 




Khomboid. Across: i. Quest. 2. Satyr. 3. Tepid. 4. Melon. 
5. Setoii. 

Doi'BLE Zigzags. From i to 10, Childermas; from 11 to 20, St. 
Nicholas. Cross-words : i. Collects. 2. Chaplets. 3. Criminal. 4. 
Calliope. 5. Sadducee. 6. Besought. 7. Reggiolo. 8. Amusable. 
9. Braggart. 10. Amassing. 

HoiR-GLASS. Centrals, Crimson. Cross-words: i. flaCcid. 2. 
maRks. 3. fin. 4. M. 5. aSk. 6. crOak. 7. flaNnel. 

Acrostic. Oregon, " Alis volat propriis." She flies with her 
own wings. Cross-words: i. Cacas. 2. Elate. 3. Field. 4. Ascot. 
5. Ovoid. 6. Colon. 7. Eleg>-. 8. Galop. 9. Atoll. 10. Optic. 11. 
Orion. 12. Lotus. 13. Apple. 14. Erato. 15. Girth. 16. Tiger. 17. 
Assay. 

December Diamonds. I. i. C. 2. She. 3. Sarah. 4. Sadiron. 
5. Christmas. 6. Earthen. 7. Homes. 8. Nan. 9. S. II. i. M. 
2. His. 3. Paste. 4. Hastens. 5. Mistletoe. 6. Steered. 7. Enter. 
8. Sod. 9. E. 

Combination Pi;zzle. Primals, terra: finals, cotta. Cross- 
words: I. Talc. 2. Echo. 3. Rust. 4. Rant. 5. Anna. 



Cross-words: i. 
C-rash. 6. E-re- 



Cross-words: i. 



Anagram. Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

Beheaoings. I. Byron. Cross-words: i. B-racket. 2. V-ale. 
3. R-ice. 4. O-pen. 5. N-ape. II. Chaucer 
C-arouse. 2. H-eaves. 3. A-tone. 4. U-sage. 
bus. 7. R-anger. 

Pi. Heap up the fire more cheerly, — 

We 'II hail the new year early. 
The old one has gone fairly, — 
A right good year and true I 
We 've had some pleasant rambles, 
And merry Christmas gambols. 
And roses with our brambles. 
Adieu, old year, adieu ! 

DofBLE Acrostic. Primals, dog ; finals, dog. 
Deputed. 2. Othello. 3. Grazing. 

A Lamf Puzzle. Centrals, Statue of Liberty. Cross-words: i. 
Asp. 2. Ute. 3. Bag. 4. Hates. 5. Volutes. 6. Propeller. 7. 
Camelopards. 8. Grandfather. 9. Elk. lo. Brisk. 11. Fable, ij. 
Fleet. 13. Arc. 14. Whittle. 15. Rallyings. 

To oiR Pi'ZZLERs: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and 
should be addressed to St. Nicholas " Riddle-box," care of The Centiry Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York Cit>-. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the October Number were received, before October 15th, from Maude E. Palmer — Lillie O. 
Estabrook — "The McG.'s" — "The Wi.se Five" — "Arthur Gride" — Josephine Sherwood — A. H. R. and M. G. R. — "Mid" — 
Stephen O. Hawkins — Jo and I — "Eagle-eye," "Nimble Sixpence," J. M. V. C., Jr., and_ E. F. S. — " King .Anso IV." — Ida 
Carleton Thallon — E. M. G. — Ge 
"The Spencers." 

.Answers to Puzzles in the October Number were received, before October 15th. from Blanche Watson, i — Susan W. F., 1 — 
" Loma yoone," i —"Lillian Adonis," 3 — Jennie De Shields, i — Sarah Maxwell. 1 — Genevieve Matiingly, i — Elizabeth MoflTatt, i 
— Hughes, t — Elaine S., 2 — Annie McClure, i — " Topsy " Adams, i — Paul Reese, 11 — Helen Sewell, i — Harold Franks, 2 — Julia 
Johnson, I — "The Peterkins,"9 — Mabel Ganson, i — (jeorgiana Stevenson, 1 — Helen R., i — Effie K. Talboys, 7 — "One of the 
A. S.," 2 — A. P. C, A. A. W., and S. W. A., 4 — Jane V. Hayes, i — Crosby Miller, i — Jessie and Robert King, i — Exlith Emory, 
4 — " May and '79," 6 — CariUT and Mama, 4 — Eric Palmer, 3 — David W. Jayne, 6 — "The Tivoli Gang," 11 — " Wee 3," 11 — B. G. 
Harman, 1 — Wilfred W. Linsly, 3 — Nellie L. Hawes, 10 — Blanche and Fred, 10 — " Leap Year," i — Agnes E. Brcwin, i — Hubert L. 
Bingay, 11 — " Papa and Ed," 10 — Jessie Chapman, 6 — Ida and .-Mice, n — "Suse," 9. 



iertrude L. — " Leather-stocking " — Alice Mildred Blanke and Edna Le Massena — " Uncle Mung " — 



NOVKL WOKD-SyUAKK. 

I n.\i> a yoiirij^ playmate nanietl i — 2 — 2 — i, 
Ami I went to school with her once, just for fun ; 
But at 2 — 3 — 3 — 2, when recess was most tlirough, 
I said that she was a 2 — 3 — 4 — 2. 
She said she was nut, that my j^rammar was new, 
Hut tiiat if " she " was one, then " I " was one, too. 
So we (|uarreled and parted, as oiliors have done. 
And I went home alone, without i — 2 — 2 — i. 

The words to he supplied may be arranged so as to 
form a word-square. M. K. D. 



an era from directs, and leave fortifies. 11. Take an 
article from boiled, and leave a germ. 12. Take the gotl- 
dess of Revenge from a clergym.an's assistant, anil leave 
worthless dogs. 

.Ml the syncopated words contain tlie same number 
of letters. When these twelve words are placed one 
below another, in the order here given, the central let- 
ters, reading downward, will spell the name of a festival 
time occurring in January. K. s. k. 

DOITKLK .><yi'.\KK.S. 



W<>KI> SY.NCOPATION.S. 

Ex AMi'i I- : Take a word of denial from signified, and 
leave an act. .\nswer, de-noi-ed. 

I. Take consumed from concjuered, and leave a Ixiy's 
nickname. 2. Take to possess from made dusky, and 
leave rearetl. 3. Take part of a table from to declare, 
and leave a beverage. 4. Take the entire sum from rent 
paid for a stall, and leave a platform. 5. Take frequently 
from gently, and leave crafty. 6. Take one of a certain 

tribe of Indians from cried, and leave furnished with of surface. 3. .\ vegetable 
shoes. 7. Take a pronoun from ecclesiastical societies, II. .-VfROSS: i. '1 o ilelineate. 2. dne who breaks or 

and leave a beautiful city. 8. Take the conclusion from manages a horse. 3. F"arewell. 4. Tests. 5. Confidence, 
desp.atching, and leave to utter musically. 9 Take to iNCLrHKH Sqiare : I. .\ small fish. 2. To expire, 

fasten from a clavichord, and leave to place. ID. Take 3. .^ snake-like fish. "xklis." 



I. .\CROSs : I. A Mexican plant. 2. Having the 
mouth wide open. _;. Household deities among the 
ancient Ronuns. 4. (In the point. 5. .\ colloquial word 
meaning " troublesome."' 

Inci.itded Sqiark : I. .\n o[>ening. 2. A measure 



239 



240 



THE RIDDLE-BOX. 




^[mT'TirpiWliMiflTli, 




6J372000f 112 




ILLUSTRATED DOUBLE ACROSTIC. 

Each of the seven pictures in the accompanying pic- 
ture forms the cross-word of a double acrostic. When 
these have been rightly guessed and placed one below 
the other, the initial letters will spell the Christian name 
and the finals the surname of a celebrated American 
commodore, born in January over a hundred years ago. 

PI. 

A FOWLER owlbunn ; a kobo rudane ; 
A reet whit turif undersaveth; 
A thap rotund ; a hoseu howes snioor 
Klac tey het tearsh nidive musefrep; 
A sledancap showe weid bredor she 
Ni stelin hades thane tensil kiess ; 
A sourdown fanitoun tey sealdune; 
A kescat whit tis gfist conelaced: — 
Hist si het raye hatt fro yuo iwast 
Bonedy stowromor cystim stage. 



DOUBLE ACROSTIC. 

The primals name colors ; the finals, an ensign or 
standard. 

Cross-words : i. A number going in company. 
2. A river in North America. 3. A time of day. 4. An 
estate held of a superior on condition of military service. 
5. A feminine name. 6. A web-footed bird. 7. A dish 
of stewed meat. 8. A hamlet of Palestine memorable 
as the place of a miracle recorded by St. Luke. s. s. 



A GREEK CROSS. 



* 


# 


* 


* 


* 


# 


# 


* 


* 


* 



I. Upper Square : i. Pertaining to a city. 2. Gold 
and silver. 3. A North American quadruped. 4. The 
positive pole of an electric battery. 5. Certain days in 
the Roman calendar. 

n. Left-hand Square : i. A kind of rampart. 
2. One of the Muses. 3. The friend of Pythias. 4. To 
expiate. 5. Certain days in the Roman calendar. 

III. Central Square : i. Certain days in the 
Roman calendar. 2. A round molding, the quarter of a 
circle. 3. Unhackneyed. 4. A pupil. 5. Certain fishes. 

IV. Right-hand Square : i. Part of the feet. 
2. Shaped like an egg. 3. A machine-tool for shaping 
articles by causing them to revolve while acted on by a 
cutting-tool. 4. A volatile fluid which produces a deep 
sleep. 5. Prophets. 

V. Lower Square: i. In every pair of shoes. 2. A 
musical drama. 3. A fruit. 4. To eat into. 5. Healthier 

in mind. ELDRED JUNGERICH. 



THt DE VINNE PRESS, NEW YORK. 




2 

< 

W 

o 

f-H 

u 
w 
[^ 

w 
a, 



ST. NICHOLAS. 



Vol. XIX. 



FEBRUARY, 1892 



No. 4. 



THE BATTLE ON SKATES. 



Bv Eva Hutchison. 



Three faces peered out of the window She had been ill with headache during the day, 

acros.s the common to where the ])ond lay and the children had been kept away from her; 

dark and calm in the clear moonlight. A but now they eagedy rushed into the room, 

number of people were skating upon its smooth She sat in an easy-chair by the grate, and the 

surface. glowing bed of coals threw a dim light into the 

The faces were wistful and disappointed room — half redeeming it from darkness. .After 

ones, for the children longed to join the skaters, they had greeted her, she said : 

but mama had said they must stay in, because " What is the matter, Palith ? Vou are so 

they had been out all day. (piiet. Don't you feel well?" 

Mr. and Mrs. Hoisted had gone to a we<l- " Ves. I 'm well. But mama won't let us go 

ding, and the children did not know how to out. Tiie other girls are going ami we can't, 

pass this long, dreary evening. The ice is just right, too." The tone in which 

Edith, the oldest, pouted and declared that it Edith spoke betrayed how near she was to tears, 

was mean ; Walter was teasing the cat to relieve " I 'm sure mama is right, dear," said .Aunt 

his injured feelings; while Mollie nestled up to Ella. "Hear how the wiml blows. It is very 

iulith, lovingly, and was silent. cold, anil while this weather lasts you will have 

"Children, come here," called a soft voice, plenty of such fun. What are you going to do 

At the sound tiieir faces brightened, and this evening, while your mother is away ? " 

(juickly they went to the sitting-room whence " Nothing," came the answer in a disconso- 

the \tii(e proceeded. It was .\unt l-'.lla who late voice. 

called. liie jolliest aunt in the world — al- " I'hen. listen; I have a story to tell you. 

ways ready for fun or a game, or even to tell Just sit ilown near the fire and I will begin.' 

a story, — she could Hy a kite and shoot mar- "Let it be a truly story. .Vuntie," pleaded 

bles 'most as well as a boy, invent new fashions Mollie. 

for dolls, and run a race. She was, in the eyes " Yes, dear." 

of the children, a paragon, and to be atlored. Quickly they prei)ared to listen. Mollie, be- 

Copyright, 189J, by Thb Century Co. All rights reserved. 

»43 



244 



THE BATTLE ON SKATES. 



[Feb. 



cause she was the youngest, crept into Aunt 
Ella's lap; Edith nestled by her side on an 
ottoman, and Walter, stretched full length upon 
the hearth-rug, stared intently into the fire. 
Surveying the expectant trio. Aunt Ella began : 

Once upon a time King Philip of Spain 
went to war with Holland. You know where 
Holland is, don't you ? It is a small country 
in Europe, somewhat north of Germany. You 



capture Haarlem. The city was almost sur- 
rounded by water, then frozen over, as it was 
winter. There were a few ships lying near 
Haarlem, but they were held fast by the ice, 
and might easily have been captured had not 
the sailors dug a trench all around them, and 
fortified them against the enemy. 

As soon as Don Frederick arrived, he sent a 
body of soldiers to attack the ships. The sol- 
diers marched out to the vessels, but as they 



p^-- y 




eiaJsK--' 



CHARGE OF THE DUTCH SOLDIERS ON SKATES. 



remember the story, how a brave boy stopped 
a leak in the dike in this same place ; you 
kno^v', too, that the country is lower than the 
sea-level and there have to be big walls, called 
dikes, to keep the water from sweeping over 
the land. This fight was a desperate one, for 
King Philip was so eager to subdue the country 
that he waged the war with all the means at his 
command. He sent to Holland, as his com- 
mander-in-chief, the Duke of Alva, a Spanish 
nobleman and a famous general'. After the war 
had been going on a long time and many towns 
had been seized, the Duke saw that if he could 
take Amsterdam he could easily overcome the 
rest of Holland, — but between Amsterdam and 
the King's forces lay the city of Haarlem. 
The Duke sent his son Don Frederick to 



came near a body of armed men on skates 
sprang from the trench. 

The Hollanders were used to skating from 
their very babyhood, for in winter the canals 
and sea were frozen for miles around, and every- 
body skated. Not only did they skate for fun, 
but to market, and their daily bu.siness, just as 
easily and far more quickly than they could walk. 
They used to have games and sham battles on 
the ice, so that when there was need for real 
fighting, they knew what to do. 

But the Spaniards lived in a southern country 
where there is little ice, and they never went 
sliding or skating. When they saw the Holland- 
ers dart out at them, their feet shod with steel, 
appearing almost to fly in the air, they thought 
the enemy must be aided by witchcraft ! They 



1892.] 



THE BATTLf: ON SKATES. 



245 



were tempted to run, such was their amazement 
and terror. 

However, when the bullets came flying among 
them, they tried to pick up their courage anil 
fight. But their eftbrLs were feeble, for, unable 
to keep their footing on the slippery surface, 
they would stumble and fall, while the Holland- 
ers would glide by unharmed and. send their bul- 
lets to the mark. 

The Hollanders were victorious ; and, when 
they drove the Spaniards ofi" the ice, several hun- 
dred of the enemy lay dead, while the conquer- 
ors scarcely suffered any loss. When the Duke 
heard of this defeat he was much surprised, and 
decided that he would not be beaten again in 
that way. 

So he ordered seven thousand pairs of skates, 
and commanded all the soldiers to learn to skate. 
They had fun while learning, but not long after- 
ward were able to handle their weapons on ice 
as boldly as the Hollanders. But they had Httle 
occasion to make use of this new accomplish- 
ment, for a sudden thaw and flood made it 
possible for the ships to sail away, and the sailors' 
brave spirits were much cheered by the sudden 
frost that followed and rendered them safe 
from na\ al attack for a time. 




Reluctantlv the children marched off to bed, 
and in their dreams that night saw strange 



The Spaniards soon after captured Haar- visions in which ice, skates, ships, Spaniards 
lem, but they had to fight hard to take it, for and Hollanders mingled in the wildest con- 
the city was well fortified and the people brave, fusion. 




\%i) 



\ 



THE SPAMARPS LEARNINi; T" SKATE 



THE ADMIRAL'S CARAVAN. 



By Charles E. Carryl. 



[Begun in the December number. ^ 

Chapter V. 

BOB scarlet's garden. 

Being in a garden full of flo\vers at Christ- 
mas-time is a very fine thing; and Dorothy was 
looking about with great delight, and wonder- 
ing how it had all happened, when she sud- 
denly caught sight of a big robin walking 
along one of the paths, and examining the vari- 
ous plants with an air of great interest. He 
was a very big robin, indeed — in fact, he was 
about as large as a goose, and he had on a gar- 



markable thing about him was that he was walk- 
ing about %vith Jiis hands in his waistcoat-pockets. 

Dorothy had never seen a robin do this before, 
and she was looking at him in great astonish- 
ment, when he chanced to turn around to take 
a particular look at a large flower, and she saw 
that he had two caterpillars embroidered on the 
back of his waistcoat forming the letters B. S. 

" Now I wonder what B. S. means," she 
said to herself with her usual curiosity. " It 
stands for Brown Sugar, but of course it can't 
be that. Perhaps it means Best Suit, or Bird 
Superintendent, or — or — why it must mean 
















^ki 



"the robin was walking about with his hands in his WAISTCOAr-POCKETS." 

dener's hat, and a bright red waistcoat which Bob Scarlet, to be sure!" and clapping her 
he was wearing unbuttoned so as to give his hands in the joy of this discovery, she ran after 
fat little chest plenty of room ; but the inost re- the Robin to take a nearer look at him. 

246 



THE ADMIRALS CARAVAN. 



24: 



\'^\ 



But Bob Scarlet proved to be ;i very ditiicult fancy — " she exclaimed, stopping short and 
person to get near to. Over and over again clasping her hands in a rapture, "just fancy 
Dorothy caught sight of the top of his hat beyond going out to pick an apronful of delightful 
a hedge, or saw the red waistcoat tlirough the new stockings, or running out every day to see 
bushes; but no matter how quickly she stole if your best frock is ripe yet!" And I 'm sure 
around to the spot, he was always gone before 1 don't know what she wouUl have said next, 
she got there, and she would see the hat or the but just at this moment she caught sight of 
waistcoat far away in another part of the garden, a paper lying in the path before her, and, of 
and would hurry after him only to be disap- course, immediately became interested in that. 
jjointed as before. She was getting \ery tired It was folded something like a lawyer's docu- 
of this, and was 
walking around 
rather discon- 
solately, when 
she happened to 
look at one of 
the plants and 
(hscovered that 
little sunbonnets 
were growing 
on it in great 
profusion, like 
white lilies ; and 
this was such a 
delightful dis- 
covery that she 
instandy forgot 
all about Bob 
Scarlet, and she 
started away in 
great excitement 
to examine the 
other i)lants. 

There was a 
great variety of 
them, and they 

all were of the same curious character. Be- 
sides the bonnet bush, there were plants loaded 
down with little jtinafores, and shrubs with 
small shoes growing all over llum. like i)eas, 



3 







im'^ : 







TIIERI-: WEKR PLANTS LOADED DOWN WITH LITTLE PINAFORES, AND SllRl US WITH SMALL SHOES 

GROWING ALL OVER THEM." 

ment, and was \ery neatly marked in red ink 
"MEMORI'MDRIMS"; and after looking 
at it curiously for a moment, Dorothy said to 
herself, " It 's prob'bly a wash-list ; nothing but 
and delicate vines of thread with button bios- two aprons, and four HDKefts, and ten towels 
soms on them, and. uhnl particularly pleased —there 's always such a lot of towels, you 
Dorothy, a row of pots marked " I-ROCK know," and here she picked uj) the pajK-r; but 
FLOWERS," and each containing a stalk with instead of being a wash-list, she found it ron- 
a crisp litdc frock growing on it, like a big tulip tained these verses: 
upside down. 

" They 're only big enough for dolls," chat- Have An^^incorms attractive homes / 

tered Dorothy, as she luirrietl from one to the Do Piimblehces have braim f 

other; " but. of course, they '11 grow. I s'posc Do Cateifillars cany combs ? 

it 's what thev call a nursery-garden. Just Do Ducks dismantle drams I 



248 



THE ADMIRALS CARAVAN. 



[Feb. 



Can Eels elude elastic earls ? 

Do Flatfish fish for flats ? 
Are Grigs agreeable to girls ? 

Do Hares have huntiitg-hats ? 
Do Ices make an Ibex ill / 

Do Jackdatvs jug their jam ? 
Do Kites kiss all the kids they kill ? 

Do Llamas live on lamb ? 
Will Moles molest a mounted mink? 

Do Newts deny the news ? 
Are Oysters boisterous lohen they drink ? 

Do Parrots proud in peius ? 
Do Quakers get their quills from quails ? 

Do Rabbits rob on roads ? 
Are Snakes supposed to sneer at snails ? 

Do Tortoises tease toads ? 
Can Unicorns perform on horns ? 

Do Vipers value veal ? 
Do Weasels weep when fast asleep ? 

Can Xylophagans squeal ? 
Do Yaks in packs invite attacks ? 

Are Zebras full of zeal ? 

P. S. Shake well and recite every 
morning in a shady place. 

" I don't believe a single one of them, and I 
never read such stuff!" exclaimed Dorothy, 
indignantly; and she was just about to throw 
down the paper when Bob Scarlet suddenly ap- 
peared, hurrying along the path, and gazing the Robin, with a very important air, " you can 
anxiously from side to side as if he had lost answer anything." 

something. As he came upon Dorothy, he Now, as the Robin said this, it suddenly 
started violently, and said " Shoo ! " with great occurred to Dorothy that she had been lost for 
vehemence, and then, after staring at her a quite a long time, and that this was a good 
moment, added, "Oh, I beg your pardon — I opportunity for getting a little information, so 
thought you were a cat. Have you seen any- she said very politely : " Then I wish you 'd 
thing of my exercise ? " 

" Is this it ? " said Dorothy, holding up the 
paper. 

" That 's it," said the Robin, in a tone of 
great satisfaction. " Shake it hard, please." 



put at the end so that I won't forget it the next 
time. You see, it 's about the only exercise I 
have." 

" I should think it was very good exercise," 
said Dorothy, trying to look serious again. 

" Oh, it 's good enough, what there is of it," 
said the Robin, in an off-hand way. 

" But I 'm sure there 's enough of it," said 
Dorothy. 

" There is enough of it, such as it is," replied 
the Robin. 

" Such as it is ? " repeated Dorothy, beginning 
to feel a little perplexed. " Why it 's haid 
enough, I 'm sure. It 's enough to drive a 
person quite distracted." 

" Well, it 's a corker till you get used to it," 
said the Robin, strutting about. " There 's such 
a tremendous variety to it, you see, that it exer- 
cises you all over at once." 

This was so ridiculous that Dorothy laughed 
outright. " I should never get used to it," she 
said. " I don't believe I know a single one of 
the answers." 

" /do ! " said Bob Scarlet proudly ; " I know 
'em all. It 's ' No' to everything in it." 

" Dear me ! " said Dorothy, feeling quite pro- 
voked at herself, " of course it is. I never 
thought of that." 

" And when you can answer them" continued 



please tell me where I am." 

"Why, you 're here''' replied the Robin 
promptly. "That 's what /call an easy one." 

" But where is it ? " said Dorothy. 

" Where is what ? " said the Robin, looking 



Dorothy gave the paper a good shake, after rather puzzled. 



which Bob Scarlet took it and stuffed it into 
his waistcoat-pocket, remarking, "It has to be 
well shaken before I take it, you know." 

" Is that the prescription ? " said Dorothy, 
beginning to laugh. 

" No, it 's the postscription," replied the 
Robin, very seriously ; " but, somehow, I never 
remember it till I come to it. I suppose it 's 



" Why, the place where I am," said Dorothy. 

" That 's here, too," replied the Robin, and then, 
looking at her suspiciously, he added, " Come — 
no chaffing, you know. I won't have it." 

" But I 'm not chaffing," said Dorothy, begin- 
ning to feel a little provoked ; " it 's only because 
you twist the things I say the wrong way." 

" What do you say 'em the wrong way for, 



1892.] 



THE ADMIRALS CARAVAN. 



249 








WHERE IS THE PLACE WHERE I AM?' 
DnROTHV." 



garden itself was already 
beginning to be very much 
agitated, and the clothes 
on the plants were folding 
themselves up in a flutter- 
ing sort of a way as she 
ran past them ; and she 
noticed, moreover, that 
the little shoes on the shoe- 
shrub were so withered 
away that they looked like 
a lot of raisins. But she 
had no time to stop and 
look at such things, and 
she ran on until she had 
left the garden for be- 
hind. 




■\1V. 






C;''" ' 



then ? " said Rob Scar- 
let irritably. " Why 
don't you get 'em 
straight ? " 

" Dear me ! " ex- 
claimed Dorothy, now 
quite out of patience. 
"■ How dreadfully con- 
fu.sing it all is! Don't you understand — 1 
only want to know where the place is where 
I am now, — \\ liereabouts in the geography, I 
mean," she added in desperation. 

" It is n't in there at all," said Bob Scarlet 
very decidedly. " There is n't a geography 
going that could hold on to it for five minutes." 
" Do you mean that it is n't any^vherc ?" ex- 
claimed Dorothy, beginning to feel a little 
frightened. 

"No, I don't," .said Rob Scarlet obstinately. 
" I mean that it is anywhere — anywhere that 
it chooses to be, you know ; only it does n't sliiy 
anywhere any longer than it likes." 

"Then I 'm going away," .said Dorothy has- 
tily. " i won't stay in such a place." 







"DOROTHY STARTED OFF AT ONCE, AS HAKU AS SHE COILD RUN." 

Ch.\ptkr VI. 

IN THK TOY-SHOP. 

DoKoinv was just drawing a long breath 
over her narrow escape, when slie discovered 
the braided floor of the garden floating away 
" Well, you 'il better be (piick about it," said far above iier head with the trunks of the trees 
the Robin with a chuckle, " or there won't be dangling from it like one-legged trousers. This 
any place to go away //v^w. I can feel it begin- was rather a ridiculous spectacle, and when the 
ning to go now," and with this remark Bob flt)or presently shriveled up and then went out 
Scarlet himself hurried away. There was some- of sight altogether, she said, "Pooh!" very 
thing so alarming in the idea of a place going contemptuously antl felt cpiite brave again, 
away and leaving her behind that Dorothv " It was n't half .so solemn as I expected," 
started oft" at once as fast as she could run, and she went on. chattering to herself; *' I certainly 
indeed she was n't a moment too soon. I'he thought there would be all kinds of phenome- 



250 



THE ADMIRALS CARAVAN. 



[Feb. 



ners, and after all it 's precisely like nothing but 
an old basket blowing away. But it 's just as 
well to be saved, of course, only I don't know 
where I am any more than I did before. It 's 
a kind of wooden floor, I think," 
she added, stamping on it with 
her little shoe ; " and, dear me ! 
I verily believe it 's nothing but a 




suflbcated. In fact, he was so black in the face 
that she had to pound him on the back to bring 
him to. 

" We 're disguised, you know," said the Ad- 
miral, breathlessly. " We found these things 
under the bed. Bob Scarlet is n't anywhere 
about, is he ? " he added, staring around in an 
agitated manner through his spy-glass. 

" About ? " said Dorothy, trying to look seri- 
ous. " I should think he was about five miles 
from here by this time." 

" I wish it was five thousand," exclaimed Sir 
Walter, angrily, smoothing down his frock, 
"Old Peckjabber!" 

" Why, what in the world is the matter ? " 
said Dorothy, beginning to laugh in spite of 
herself. 

" Matter ! " exclaimed the Admiral, with his 
voice trembling with emotion. " Why, look 
here ! We were all shrinking away to nothing in 
that wanishing garden. Bob Scarlet himself was 
no bigger than an ant when we came away." 

" And we was n't any 
bigger than uncles," put in 
the Highlander. 



" ' IT IS A shelf! she exclaimed," 

shelf. It is a shelf! " she exclaimed, peeping cau- 
tiously over the edge; "and there 's the real 
floor ever so far away. I can never jump down 
there in the world without being dashed to de- 
struction! " — and she was just thinking 
how it would do to hang from the edge 
of the shelf by her hands and then 
let herself drop (with her eyes shut, 
of course), when a little party of peo- 
ple came tumbling down through the 
air and fell in a heap close 
beside her. She gave a scream 
of dismay and then stood 
staring at them in utter be- 
wilderment, for, as the party 
scrambled to their feet she 
saw they were the Caravan, 
dressed up in the most ex- 
traordinary fashion, in little 
frocks and long shawls, and 
all wearing sunbonnets. The 
Highlander, with his usual 



bad luck, had put on his 

sunbonnet backward, with 

the crown over his face, and was struggling with " Yon 're not more than three inches high 

it so helplessly that Dorothy rushed at him and this minute," said Sir Walter, surveying Doro- 

got it off just in time to save him from being thy with a critical air. 




' DOROTHY GOT THE SUNBONNET OFF JUST IN TIME TO SAVE THE HIGHLANDER FROM 

BEING SUFFOCATED." 



THE ADMIRALS CARAVAN. 



251 



" Goodness gracious ! " exclaimed Dorothy, ark, apparently discussing something of vast 
with a start. " It seems to me that 's extremely importance. 



small. I should think I 'd have felt it coming 
on." 

" It comes on sort of sneaking, and you don't 
notice it," said the Admiral. " JJe V have 



" We 're buying a camel," said the Admiral, 
excitedly ; " they 've got just the one we want 
for the Caravan." 

''His name is Humphrey," shouted the 



been completely inwisible by this time if we Highlander uproariously, "and he 's got three 



had n't jumped overboard." 

"It was an awful jump!" said Dorothy, sol- 
emnly. " Did n't it hurt to fall so far ? " 

" Not at all," said the Admiral, cheerfully. 
"The foiling part of it was quite agreeable — so 
cool and rushing, you know; but the landing 
was tremenjious severe." 

" Banged us like anything," explained the 
Highlander; and with this the Caravan locked 
arms and walked away with the tails of their 
shawls trailing behind them. 

" What strange little things they are I " said 
Dorothy, reflectively, as she walked along after 
them, " and they 're for all the world precisely 
like arimated dolls — movable, you know," she 
added, not feeling quite sure that " arimated " 
was the proper word, — "and speaking of dolls, 
here 's a perfect multitude of 'em I " she ex- 
claimed, for just then she came upon a long 
row of dolls beautifully dressed, and standing 
on their heels with dieir heads against the wall. 
They were at least five times as big as Dorothy 
herself, and had price-tickets tucked into their 
sashes, such as " 2 6, cheap," " 5^., rkal wax," 
and so on ; and Dorothy, clapping her hands eyes were full of tears. " They 're certainly the 



humps ! " 

" Nonsense ! " cried Dorothy, bursting into a 
fit of uncontrollable laughter. " There never 
was such a thing." 

" They have 'em in arks," said the Admiral 
very earnestly. " You can find any/hini^ in arks 
if you only go deep enough. I 've seen 'em 
with patriarchs in 'em, 'way down at the 
bottom." 

" Did t/iey have any humps ? " inquired the 
Highlander with an air of great interest. 

Dorothy went off again into a burst of laugh- 
ter at this. " He 's the most ignorant creature 
I ever saw ! " she said to herself. 

" I thought they was something to ride on," 
said the Highlander sulkily ; " otherwise, I say, 
let 'em keep out of arks ! " The rest of the 
Caravan evidently sided with him in this opin- 
ion, and after staring at Dorothy for a moment 
with great disfavor they all called out, " Old 
Proudie!" and solemnly walked off in a row- 
as before. 

" I believe I shall have a fit if I meet them 
again," said Dorothy to herself, laughing till her 



in an ecstasy of delight, e.xclaimed : " Why, it 's 
a monstrous, enormous toy-shop ! " and then she 
hurried on to see what else there might be on 
exhibition. 

" Marbles, prob'bly," she remarked, peering 



foolishest things I ever saw," and with this she 
walked away through the shop. 

" How much are you a ilozen?" s;ud a voice, 
and Dorothy, looking arouml. saw that it was a 
over the edge of a basket full of what looked Dancing-Jack in the shop- window speaking to 
like enormous stone cannon-balls of various her. He was a gorgeous creature w ith bells on 
colors ; " for mastodons, / shoulil say, only 1 the seams of his clothes and with arms an<l legs 
don't know as ///i*^' ever play marbles, — grocery of different colors, and he was lounging in an 
shop, full of dear little drawers with real knobs easy attitude with his right leg thrown over the 



on 'em, 'pothecary's shop with inn- ])ill-l)t)xes/' 
she went on. examining one ilelightful tiling 
after another; "and here 's a farm out of a box. 
with the trees and the family exactly the same 
size, as usual, and oh! here 's a Noah's .\rk full 
of higgledy-piggledy animals — why, what are 
you doing here ? " she exclaimed, for the Cara- 
van were hudiUed together at the door of the 



top of a toy livery-stable ami his left foot in a 
large ornamental tea-cup ; but as he was fiist- 
enetl to a hook by a loop in the top of his hat, 
Dorothy tliil n't feel in the least afraid of him. 
" Thank you," she replied with much dignity. 
" I 'm not a dozen at all. I 'm a single person. 
That sounds kind of unmarried," she thought to 
herself, " but it 's the exact truth." 



252 



THE ADMIRALS CARAVAN. 



[Feb. 



'• No offense, I hope," said the Jack, looking was hanging in one corner of the window, just 

somewhat abashed. in the act of quietly turning into a battledore 

" No — not exactly," said Dorothy rather with a red morocco handle. This struck her 

stiffly. as being such a remarkable performance that 

" You know, your size docs come in dozens she immediately began looking at one thing af- 
— assorted," continued the Jack with quite a ter another, and watching the various changes, 
professional air. " Family of nine, two maids until she was quite bewildered, 
with dusters, and cook with removable apron. " It 's something like a Christmas panto- 
Very popular, I beheve." mime," she said to herself; " and it is n't the 

" So I should think," remarked Dorothy, be- slightest use, you know, tr3'ing to fancy what 

ginning to recover her good nature. anything 's going to be, because everything 

" But of course smgles are much more select," that happens is so unproblesome. I don't 



said the Jack. " We never come in dozens, 
you know." 

" I suppose not," said Dorothy innocently. 
" I can't imagine anybody wanting twelve 
Dancing-Jacks all at the same time." 



know where I got t/iat word from," she went 
on, " but it seems to express exactly what I 
mean. F'r instance, there 's a little cradle that 's 
just been turned into a coal-scuttle, and if that 
isn't unproblesome, well then — never mind!" 



" It would n't do any good if they did want (which, as you know, is a ridiculous way little 



'em," said the Jack. "They could n't get 'em, — 
that is, not in this shop." 

Now, while this conversation was going on, 

Dorothy noticed that 

the various things in 

the shop-window 

had a curious 

way of con- 



girls have of finishing their sentences). 

By this time she had got around again to 
the toy livery-stable, and she was extremely 
pleased to find that it had turned into a smart 
little baronial castle with a turret at each end, 
and that the ornamental tea-cup was just 
changing, with a good deal of a flourish, into 
a small rowboat floating in a little stream that 
stantly ran by the casde walls. 

" Come, that 's the finest 
thing yet ! " exclaimed Doro- 
thy, looking at all this with 
great admiration ; " and I wish 
a brazen knight Avould come 
out with a trumpet and blow 
a blast" — you see, she was 
quite romantic at times — and 
she was just admiring the 
clever way in which the boat 
was getting rid of the handle 
of the tea-cup, when the Dan- 
cing-Jack suddenly stopped 
talking, and began scrambling 
over the roof of the castle. He 
was extremely pale, and, to 
Dorothy's alarm, spots of 

' VOU KNOW YOUR SUE DOES COME IN DOZENS,' CONTINUED THE JACK." J^j.-gJ^^ ^^J^^.^ ^^^^^ COming OUt 

turning into something else. She discovered all over him, as if he had been made of stained 
this by seeing a little bunch of yellow peg-tops glass, and was being lighted i\\) from the inside, 
change into a plateful of pears while she " I believe I 'm going to turn into some- 
chanced to be looking at them ; and a moment thing," he said, glaring wildly about, and .speak- 
afterward she caught a doll's saucepan, that ing in a very agitated voice. 




iSgs.] 



THE ADMIKAI/S CARAVAN. 



2dj 





, ■ J- o,. tn herself " not to know which of two people is 
.. Goodness: •• exclaimed Dorothy ,n d-sma,. "^^'^^^ ";;;,,,,. „„en there . reaUy only 
.. What do you suppose >t 's go.ng to be talk.n t y ,1 _ ^^^^^ ^^^^ ^ ^,^^^^^ 

C: he tttmed into a slender Harlec,ui„ all qu.e.ly turn«l 
made uu of spangles and shinmg triangles. ups.de do«n 
Xo« this was all very well, and of course and was now a 
much better than turning 
into a tiuilt of any sort, 
but as the Dancing-Jack's 
last remark went on without 
stopping, and was taken 
charge of, so to speak, and 
finished by the Harlequin, 
it mixed up the two in a very 
confusing way. In fact, by 
the time the remark came 
to an end, Dorothy did n't 

really know which of them 

was talking to her, and, to 

make matters worse, the 

Harleciuin vanished for a 

moment and then reap- 
peared, about one half of 

his original size, coming 



THE HAKLEyllN SAILED AWAV UNUKK THE BK.DOE." 

his original size, commg .^ j^l^ t^e stream flowmg 

out of the door of the castle w.th an uncon^ httk sU>n b ^ ^^^^^ .^^^ 

corned air as if he had n't had anythmg to do ^^^'ij^^ away undJr the bndge and 

^^'!\m::^aa.lly cona.sing," said Dorothy disappeared. 

{To it' continued.) 



/ 



J-H 




^J^i^^^ 



My heart, dear Goldilocks, Though cortainiy 't ic small. 
Within this Daper bo^ Yet 't is my litUo all. 



Within this pap 
You v;:!l t-A : 



Bear m miriv:. 



HISTORIC DWARFS. 



By Mary Shears Roberts. 



I. SIR JEFFREY HUDSON. 




person in silk and satin, and appointed two tall 
serving-men to attend on him. 
HARLES I. was to marry the Here is a story of one of his adventures while 
young and beautiful Henrietta living with her Grace, though the quaint terms 
Maria of France. When she of the period have been changed. An old 
, came to England there was woman, having invited a few of her cronies to 
great rejoicing throughout dinner, some practical jokers who had stolen her 
the kingdom. Bells rang mer- cat dressed Jeffrey in a cat's skin and conveyed 
rily, bonfires blazed, and the people shouted him into the room. When the feast was nearly 
themselves hoarse. over and cheese set upon the table, one of the 
Perhaps the finest of the many feasts given guests offered the pretended cat a bit. " Grimal- 
in honor of the royal couple Avas at Burleigh, in kin can help himself when he is hungry," said 
Rutlandshire, the home of the Duke of Buck- the dwarf, and then nimbly ran down-stairs, 
ingham. The fair Henrietta had a fancy for The women all started up in the greatest con- 
dwarfs, and, as everybody at that time was striv- fusion and clamor imaginable, crying out " A 
ing to please her Majesty, the Duke concluded to witch, a witch with her talking cat!" But the 
offer her a certain little manikin of his own, joke was soon after found out; otherwise the 
named Jeffrey Hudson. This mite became poor woman might have suffered, 
celebrated, and was the hero of so many ad- A magnificent feast had been prepared at 
ventures by sea and by land tliat the story Burleigh in honor of the King and Queen, and 
of his life reads more hke romance than like it was arranged that the little dwarf should step 



from a huge venison pasty into her Majesty's 
service. This mode of appearance was not 
new even then. A pie with a dwarf inside was 



history. 

Queerly enough, he was born in Rutlandshire, 
the smallest county of England, in 1619. Lit- 
tle is known of his babyhood. His mother was thought a " dainty dish to set before a king," 
tall, and his father must have been a robust man, and a gift of this kind was often a road to the 
for he was a drover in the service of George, sovereign's favor. 
Duke of Buckingham. On the day of the dinner, Jeffrey found him- 

When Jeffrey was seven or eight years old, he self imprisoned in a large dish surrounded by a 
was presented by his father to the Duchess. He high wall of standing crust. Of course a way 
was well formed and good-looking, although had been found to give him air, but he after- 
he was only eighteen inches tall. He remained ward said he felt buried alive. To add to his 
at this height from his eighth to his thirtieth discomfort, Buckingham slyly ordered the pie 
year, after which he grew again, reaching three to be warmed, saying, " It were better eaten 
feet and six inches, and never exceeded that. warm than cold." 

The Duchess ordered his patched and well- Young Jeffrey remained quiet and said never 

worn clothes to be removed, arrayed his little a word as the dish was carried to the kitchen ; 

254 



HISTORIC DWARFS. 255 

but he was far from happy, and thought of drover, for which, by the King's command, the 
Nebuchadnezzar and the fiery furnace until he ungrateful son was very soundly and very prop- 
grew " warm with apprehension." The cook, erly whipped. 

however, understood the joke, and the dwarf- By this time Jeffrey was high in the f:avor of 

pie was placed in safety on the royal table. At (^ueen Henrietta, and aftbrded her so much 

last came the fateful time — the crowning mo- amusement by his odd speeches that he became 

ment of JeftVey's life. The pie was opened, the a privileged character. 

trumpet sounded, and forth sprang the dwarf! But even in these prosperous days Sir Jeffrey 

He was clad in a full suit of armor and skipped had his troubles. His pathway through the 

about the table, shaking his litde sword at some royal household was not altogether without 

of the guests ; and, remembering the scorching thorns. The domestics and nobles took great 

the Duke had threatened for him, he gave a pleasure in teasing the fiery-tempered midget, 

vicious little tweak at his Grace's noble nose, and truth compels me to state that he was quick 

Buckingham drew back in time to save his to take offense and of quarrelsome disposition, 

handsome face and threatened to cudgel the The Queen had a pet monkey with which Jef- 

young knave with a chicken-bone ; but the King frey was on very friendly terms ; but often, when 

laughed and said Buckingham was served quite the two were seen together, such jokes and 

right. comparisons were made as would drive young 

By this time Jeftrey was nearly deafened widi Hudson into a frenzy of rage, 

applause, and half drowned in the perfumes the The King's gigantic porter, William Evans, 

ladies sprinkled upon him, so he hastened to was another thorn in Jeffrey's flesh, and a very 

end the scene by prostrating himself before the big thorn, too. Evans was truly a giant, mea- 

Queen's plate and entreating to be taken into suring seven and a half feet in height. Jetlrey 

her service. and he could never meet without squabbling, 

His request was readily granted, for her Ma- and indeed the very sight of this ill-assorted 
jesty was much diverted by his odd perform- pair standing sitle by side was enough to occa- 
ances. Although she already had two other sion remarks that made Jeffrey's blood boil, 
dwarfs, one named Richard and the other Anne One evening, when a merry-making or mask- 
Gibson, Jeffrey was taken back to court, where ing-frolic was going on at the palace, the giant 
he was made much of by Queen Henrietta and and the dwarf happened to meet. As usual, 
the court ladies. He was as brave and true- an angry quarrel took place. Evans began to 
hearted a little knight as ever wore spurs, and tease his tiny rival by allusions to pies, veni- 
proved a trusty messenger on many occasions, son-pasties, and the like, and, in the style of the 

Through all the trouble that afterward came well-known Goliath of Ciath. when deriding 

to the royal couple the dwarf remained loyal David, cast reflections upon Hudson's diminu- 

to the King and his beloved Queen; but the tive size. Jeftrey, though extremely angr)-, 

little fellow could not stand prosperity, and tried to preserve his dignity. With a very red 

his sudden rise in the world hatl filled his small f;\ce he strutted up to the giant, whose knee was 

head with (pieer vanity and foolish f:incies. about on a level with the dwarf's head, and 

One day, in frolicsome mood, the King was said with an angry stamp : 

persuaded to confer the order of knighthood " Peradventure, my friend, you have never 

upon the manikin. How his little heart must sufliciently considered that the wren is made by 

have throbbed with pride when, kneeling on a the same hand that formetl the bustanl, and 

velvet cushion at the feet of his sovereign, he that the diamoml, though small in si/e, outval- 

felt the sword laitl gently across his shouUiers ues ten thousantl times the granite : " 

and hearil the royal voice say, " .\rise, Sir Jef- At this sally Evans's mighty lungs thundered 

frey Hudson '. " forth a peal of laughter that drowned the shouts 

Being so much indulged, Sir Jeffrey altogether of the courtiers, and snatching up the valiant 
forgot his humble birth, and when his father knight he thrust him into one of his huge pock- 
came to see him he refused to recogni/e the ets. Holding an immense hand over the 



256 



HISTORIC DWARFS. 



[Feb. 




SIR JEFFREY HUDSON. FROM AN OLD ENGRAVING. "HE WAS NOT MORE THAN EIGHTEEN INCHES IN HEIGHT UNTIL HIS 
THIRTIETH YEAR, AFTER WHICH HE GREW TO BE THREE FEET AND SIX INCHES TALL, BUT NEVER EXCEEDED THAT." 

midget to prevent his escaping, Evans pro- bread which lie broke in two, and tlien trom tlie 

ceeded to take his place in the pageant, where other pocket he took the squirming Jeffrey, 

he was to perform a dance. When this was fin- placed him between the half-loaves as if he 

ished he drew from his pocket a big loaf of were the slice of meat that goes to make up a 



.891.] 



HISTORIC DWARFS. 



2^ 



0/ 



sandwich, and intimated that the King's giant 
would lunch upon the Queen's dwarf. 

The surprise and mirth of the spectators were 
gall and wormwood to poor Jefifrey, whose lit- 
tle feet could be seen kicking furiously in all 
directions from the sides of the loaf. 

While I am telling of the giant, I will take 
time to say that in Newgate street, London, 
fixed in the front of a house, is a stone carving 
in low relief representing these two remarkable 
persons. The tablet has remained there for 
more than two hundred years, and bears the 
words 

M. P. A. 

THE king's porter AND DWARF. 

The letters M. P. A. are supposed to be the 
initials of the builder. 

About this time Jeffrey was sent by the Queen 
on a mission to France. He was to bring back 
with him a f>ench servant, and, according to 
a letter written by her Majest)' to a certain 
Madame St. George, she was in need of " a 
dozen pairs of sweet chamois gloves, one of 
doeskin, and the rules of any species of game 
then in vogue." She also asked that a French 
tailor be sent over, " if only to make her some 
petticoat bodices." 

Here was an errand for our hero ! A lit- 
tle man a foot and a half high was selected to 
go to France and escort back to Fngland a 
servant and a tailor, to say nothing of gloves 
and games ! 

Sir Jeffrey arri\ed safely at the French court, 
where he became an object of great admira- 
tion and received presents for himself to the 
value of some twelve thousand dollars. He 
attended faithfully to the business of the Queen, 
and in ilue time was ready to return with the 
servant, the gloves, and a IYcik h dancini;- 
master in i)lace of the tailor. He had in his 
keeping, too, many rich gifts from Mario do 
Medicis, the Frent h ([ueen ami mother of Heii- 
rielta, to her daughter in Fnglantl. 

The voyage home proved unlucky. The 
vessel in which he embarked with all this trea- 
sure was old and small, scarcely tit to contend 
with the rough waves of the Channel. They 
had not proceeded far when a Dunkirk privateer 
bore tlown upon them ; antl as the frail little 
Vol. XIX.- 17. 



French craft could not ofier the slightest resis- 
tance to an armed vessel, she was soon boarded 
by the pirates. They were no respecters of per- 
sons, but captured Sir Jeffrey, the servant, and 
the dancing-master, and robbed them of all 
they had ; whereby the unhappy dwarf lost not 
only his mistress's presents, but his own as well. 

I am afraid none of the captives behaved 
very bravely. The doughty knight was found 
hidden behind an enormous candlestick, and 
the French dancing-master was easily per- 
suaded to put on one of her Majesty's " petti- 
coat bodices" and do a French step for the 
amusement of the pirate crew. Jeffrey, with 
the rest of his party, was held a prisoner at 
Dunkirk for some little time. 

Here it was that our hero fought his famous 
battle with a turkey-cock, which recalls the 
celebrated combats between the pygmits and 
the cranes told about by Homer. It is said, 
though it is a big story, that a turkey-cock en- 
countered the knight in one of his walks, and 
tried to swallow him as if he were a grain of 
wheat. 

After a gallant struggle the dwarf was almost 
beaten, but, the servant appearing at a lucky 
moment, he called to her for help, and she soon 
saved him from the beak and claws of the fierce 
enemy. 

Several years after this Sir William D'Ave- 
nant was appointed poet laureate and printeil a 
stately epic poem called '• Jeffreidos," in which 
he holds up to ridicule the events of the 
ilwarf's tr)ing journey : 

Kor Jeffrey strait was throwne ; whilst faint ami weake 
The cruel foe assaults him with his beake. 

Sir Jeffrey lost none of the Queens favor by 
his misfortunes ; his liberty was bought from 
the pirates, and he was sent on another mis- 
sion across the Channel, .\gain he was taken 
prisoner by pirates, this time by Turks, and was 
carrieil otT to Barbary, where he was sold as a 
slave. He was taken to Morocco, where, ac- 
cording to his own account, he was exposed to 
many hardships, and set to cruel labor; Init 
the orticers of the garrison stationed at Tan- 
giers told a different tale, and asserted that it 
took the <hi>ky Moors a long time to invent 
an employment for the tiny slave. 



258 HISTORIC DWARFS. [Feb. 

Again a ransom was paid, and after many exclaiming that they would carry the head of 

mishaps he reached his native shores, to find Henrietta to London, where Parliament had 

England engaged in civil war, and his beloved offered for her death a reward of fifty thousand 

King and Queen in dire distress. crowns. 

Jeftrey immediately took up the King's cause. As soon as the troops had passed, she left her 

and was made a captain of horse in the royal hiding-place, and, accompanied by Jeffrey and 

army, a capacity in which he must have been a a few other officers and attendants, made her 

very comical figure. Once, when the dashing way to Pendennis Castle. The Queen suffered 

Prince Rupert made a sudden charge on a troop greatly on the road, but at last reached the 

of the Roundheads near Newbury, Jeftrey and royal fortress on the 29th of June, 1644. 

his band joined in the assault. The Royalists A friendly Dutch vessel was in the bay. In 

were driven back; but Jeffrey declared the this the party set sail ; but before they reached 

victory would have been sure if he had been the shores of France a cruiser in the service of 

better mounted. He complained that he was Parliament gave chase and fired on them sev- 

seated on a long-legged brute of a horse and eral times. Sir Jeffrey was again in danger of 

that his sword was too short. At all events, our being taken prisoner, but this time he escaped, 

tiny knight and Prince Rupert were forced to although one shot hit the Queen's bark, and 

beat a hasty retreat, while the victorious Puri- all gave themselves up for lost. In the nick of 

tans set up a cry of " There go Prince Robin time, a French fleet hove in sight and hastened 

and Cock Robin ! " to their rescue. The party finally landed at a 

By this time Henrietta, the queen, whom all wild and rocky cove near Brest. 
England had been striving to please but a few For a time Henrietta's French relatives gen- 
years before, had become even more unpopular erously gave her money ; and, wishing to be 
than her unfortunate husband. She was a near the baths at Bourbon, the poor Queen 
stanch opponent of the Puritans, and she had in- made her residence at an old palace in the city 
censed the members of Parliament by trying to of Nevers. Next the chateau was an extensive 
raise money to provide the King with means park, and there was fought a famous duel be- 
of defense. On her return from Holland, tween Sir Jeffrey and Mr. Crofts, a member of 
whither she had gone to sell her jewels, Queen the Queen's household. 

Henrietta went to Bath in hopes of finding relief When his royal mistress was in greatest dan- 
from a severe attack of rheumatic fever. But ger, the manikin had shown himself quite as brave 
war had left its traces on that beautiful western as many of her cavaliers and much more useful ; 
city. The place was full of soldiers, and the and ever since her escape from Exeter he had 
Queen was forced to push on to Exeter, one of assumed an air of great importance that was 
the few towns which still remained loyal. She highly amusing to the Queen's attendants. His 
was there greeted with tender messages from her temper had not improved by time, and he used 
husband, but her sufferings increased ; and in to grow frantic with rage at any one who at- 
less than two weeks the Earl of Essex advanced tempted to jest with him or tease him. 
to besiege the city. Hearing that his lordship Accordingly, he announced with great dig- 
had set a price upon her head, she summoned nity that he would challenge to mortal combat 
sufficient resolution to leave her sick-bed, and the first person who should allude to battles 
with three faithful attendants hid herself in the with turkey-cocks, or mention venison-pasties, 
woods between Exeter and Plymouth, A few or who should insult him in any way. This, of 
of her ladies and officers, in various disguises, course, gave promise of great fun to his tor- 
stole out of the town and joined her; among mentors, and Mr. Crofts lost no time in finding 
these was the vaUant Jeffrey. For two days the an opportunity to quote a part of Sir Wilham 
faithful dwarf kept watch while the Queen lay D'Avenant's poem, " Jeffreidos," before the 
hidden in a miserable little hut under a heap of knight and other members of the royal house- 
rubbish, suffering from cold and hunger. She hold, 
heard the enemy's soldiers pass by her retreat, Jeffrey was furious, and nothing but a duel 



1892.] 



HISTORIC DWARFS. 



259 



would heal his wounded honor. It was settled 
that Crofts and the dwarf were to meet on 
horseback, in order that Jeflrey might be more 
nearly on a le\"el with his adversary, and they 
were to fight with pistols. 

Jeftrey carefully armed himself for the fray; 
but Crofts, who looked upon the whole affair 
as a joke, took with him nothing but a large 
squirt-gun, thinking to put out both his small 
opponent and the priming of his pistol by a gen- 
erous shower of water. The angry Jeftrey, how- 
ever, was a skilful horseman and an accurate 
shot. He managed his steed with such dexter- 
ity that he avoided the shower aimed at him 
and killed Crofts with a shot from his pistol. 

Great was the excitement at the palace when 
the news was told. The duel brought Queen 
Henrietta a great ileal of trouble and proved 
the ruin of Jeftrey. In order to save his head, 
Henrietta wrote to Anne of Austria, Queen 
Regent of France, asking her to pardon the 
dwarf, and she also sent the following letter to 
the prime minister. Cardinal Mazarin: 

MoN Cousin : I have written to the queen, 
madame my sister, on the misfortune which has 
happened in my house. Le JoftVoy has killed 
the brother of Crofts. I have written to the com- 
mnndeur the whole afiiiir for your information: 
and what I wish is, that both one and the other 
being English and my domestics, the queen, my 
sister, will give me power to do justice or pardon 
as I would. This I would not do without writing 
to you, and praying you to aid nie herein, as I 
ever do in all that concerns me, according to my 
profession of being, as I am, my cousin, 

Your very affectionate cousine, 

Henriette Marie. 

Nevers, October 20, 1644, 

Sir |eftVe)'s life was spared ; but he couUl no 
longer retain his place at the court of his roval 
mistress. The brother of the Crofts whom lef- 
frey had killed was captain of the (Queen's 
guard, and |)roved implacable in his pursuit. 
The dwarf was forced to escape to I-'.nglanil, 
where he lived in obscurity for many vears. 

His kind jirotector, Charles I., died on the 
scaftbld, and Queen Henrietta was long with- 
out money for her own living. 

Jeftrey managed to exist at Oakham, his na- 



tive town, on a small pension granted him by 
the Duke of Buckingham and a few others. 
During his residence there he grew, as I al- 
ready .said, till he was more than twice his for- 
mer height, and his chief amusement was to 
tell his adventures to the country people. 

After the great London plague and fire had 
devastated the city. Sir Jeffrey (he never for- 
got his title) was induced to pay a visit to the 
son of his beloved Queen Henrietta, who was 
then reigning as Charles II. At this time the 
whole nation was excited over the supposed 
discovery of a plot to assassinate the king, and 
Jeftrey was accused of complicity and thrown 
into prison with numerous other persons. 

The Merry Monarch, 

Who never said a foolish thing, 
And never did a wise one, 

left the incpiiry about the plot and plotters to 
drag on for years, and certainly did not trouble 
himself to find out whether his mother's favor- 
ite dwarf was innocent or not. Poor little Jef- 
frey in jail must have presented a most fantastic 
appearance. His mustache was so long that 
the ends almost " twisted back amongst, and 
mingled with, his grizzled hair." His head, 
hands, and feet seemed rather large for the 
rest of his body, and the only clothes he had 
were his worn-out court fineries, the lace and 
embroideries of which were tarnisheil and 
torn. 

He had an old crackeil guitar, on \\hich he 
occasionally strummeil the air while he sang 
some of the Spanish or Moorish ballads he had 
learned in former days. The little voice that 
at one time had served to divert and amuse 
the highest in the land grew feebler and fee- 
bler, and finally, in 16S2, it ceaseil altogether. 

The valiant Jeftrey tlied, all unnoticed and 
uncareil for, in his cell in the Ciate-Hou.se, 
\\'estminster. His little waistcoat of blue satin, 
slashed and ornamenteil with pinkeil white silk, 
and his breeches and stockings, in one ])iece of 
blue satin, arc jireserveil and may still be seen 
in the .\shmolean Museum at Oxford. 

No tomb marks his resting-place, but he has 
been immortalized by two of the greatest artists 
of his time, Vandyck and Daniel Mytens. 



JINGLES. 



Bv John Kendrick Bangs. 



I. A PUZZLER. 

Mv papa is a great big man; 

But what I cannot see is 
Just how they 're going to work that plan 

To make me big as he is. 

II. A CURIOUS DISCOVERY. 

My brother's brother 's not my brother; 

And this is why, you see, 
Though his dear mother 's my dear mother, 

My brother's brother 's me. 




THE SMALLEST I'AVUKS IHANKIULLY KliClilVED. 
260 




>A/aeR^can 




By Herbert H. Smith. 

possibly there are wild pigs and certainly game- 
birds in that httle wood ; no lack of fish in the 
stream. You can never know the zest of hunt- 
ing or fishing until your dinner depends on 
"w <^ Y' ' ^ y'^"'" success ; you have never attained the sub- 
\ - / Ewereli\ing — Dolly, and Ueri, lime in cookery until you have spitted your fish 
V V ^^<^l I — ^^ the little village of or meat on a freshly peeled stick, rubbed the 
Chapada, somewhere about the center of South salt in with your fingers, and boiled it over a 
America. You will not find Chapada on your woodland fire, you watching it jealously lest it 
maps. It lies some thirty miles to the north- get ablaze, and all the time that meat is brown- 
eastward of Cuyaba, well within the limits of ing you grow hungrier and hungrier; and every 
Brazil, but not far from Bolivia. time it sputters in the glow you catch wafis 
Cuyaba is a " city," capital of the province of fragrance, until you feel that you have the 
or state of Matto Grosso. But when you read capacity of a dozen starving men, and wonder 
" capital " and " state," you must not think of whether a single haunch of venison can supply 
a region like New York, and a capital like Al- your want.s. 

bany or Boston. Matto Grosso is, indeed, Bert was a youngster then, — so was I for that 
larger than Now England and the Middle matter, and am yet whenever I get a whiff of the 
States put togctiier; but half the civilized in- wild woods. Bert had his gun, a good service- 
habitants live in the capital, which is only an al)le breech-loader, the envy of the neighboring 
oversized village after all ; another quarter make hunters. Of these, we generally kept three or 
up the "cities" of Corumba and Villa Maria, four in our employ — sturdy, brown fellows, of 
and the rest — enough to form another village that mixed race found all over the interior of 
— are scattered over the inhabited jiart of the Brazil. Then there was our German boy Carl, 
State. This does not differ greatly from the or Carlos as we called him. a good shot, and 
uninliabited i)art, for the houses or settlements handy about camps. l'\)r myself, I 'm no 
are often twenty miles asunder, and even the hunter, unless an entomologist be one ; but I 
largest plantations are mere dots in the wiUler- couUl share in the excitement of a successful 
ness. ilay, and a.s.sist nobly at the dinner afterward. 
But what a wilderness ! Suppose I could We made our headijuarters at Chapada for 
select a score of the St. Nicholas boys — the a long time, and what we did n't know of the 
real boys, who love a gun and fishing-rod, and »ountry for twenty miles round was not worth 
glory in a long tramp — to ramble with them knowing. One tlay we organized a grand 
over those great, breezy, sunshiny hills and down hunting-party. Besides Bert and Carlos, there 
through the tangled forest ? I am sure that a were Vicente, a dark half-breed and notable 
deer might be stalked on that green hillside ; hunter ; David, an ex-soldier of wandering 

361 



262 



A SOUTH AMERICAN HUNT. 



[Feb. 



tastes; Pedro, a great strapping fellow, prin- 
cipally handy for bringing home game, though 
he could shoot too, on occasion ; and three or 
four others. Vicente's wife, Barbina, went along 
as cook, and to take care of her husband's 
numerous dogs : these were all of that doubtful 
race known as pure mongrel — small and bony 
and scraggly; but what they lacked in flesh 
they made up in voice. Our own dog, " Boca- 
negra," would never associate with this pack in 
the village, but when hunting he admitted them 
to a modified companionship, for the general 
good. 

We were bound for a place or region called 
Taquarassu, about twenty miles from Chapada ; 
our hunters had already stalked the small red 
and brown deer there, and had seen cervos or 
stags. The latter are rather rare on the high- 
lands, though common along the river-plains. 
I was anxious to secure a cervo for our collec- 
tion, and Bert and Carlos were equally anxious 
to shoot one. Boca-negra, too, pricked up his 
ears when we talked of cervos and Taquarassu ; 
he could n't understand a word of Enghsh, but 
was fairly well up in Portuguese for a dog, and 
thoroughly versed in hunting-terms. Dear old 
fellow ! He was a mongrel too, but he must 
have had noble blood somewhere in his veins, 
for no dog was ever braver or more generous. 

The main party set out in the morning; the 
men on foot, with two mules and an ox to carry 
the camp-fixtures, hammocks, blankets, and sup- 
plies of mandioca-meal, coffee, sugar, and so on. 
Dolly and I followed about two o'clock, on 
horseback. The road for Matto Grosso is a 
good one, winding along the edge of the pla- 
teau, with glorious views here and there over 
the lowlands of the Cuyaba. 

Just before sunset we turned into a path 
which led to the lower table-land of Taqua- 
rassu. Surely there is not such another bit of 
hunting-ground in the world ; hardly a prettier 
spot. The country, though I have called it a 
table-land, is not flat, but rolling. Most of the 
slopes support but a scrubby growth, showing 
gray in the distance ; here and there it is varied 
by stretches of emerald-green sward, where the 
land is wet ; and all the valleys are dotted with 
the loveliest groves, certain marks of a stream 
or spring. 



We knew that there were streams in plenty, 
and could catch the sparkle of one below us, 
between two of the groves. Here, to complete 
the picture, stood a noble group of fan-leaved 
miriti-palms ; and beyond the palms, quietly 
grazing on one of those patches of greensward, 
were two deer. We were a quarter of a mile 
away, with the wind blowing toward us, so they 
had not caught our scent; but as we rode down 
the hill they lifted their pretty heads, gazed at 
the apparition for a second or two, and then 
bounded oft", the pictures of grace. 

It was growing dark when we reached the 
place that had been agreed upon for the camp ; 
much to our surprise, it was deserted, though 
there were signs of recent occupation. We did 
not see in the twilight a note that had been left 
for us, stuck in a split stick; so, as we knew 
that the party could not be far off", we found 
their trail and rode after them. Luckily the 
grass was high and showed plainly where the 
party had passed, else we could not have fol- 
lowed in the gathering darkness; as it was, we 
nearly lost the trail once or twice. It crossed 
a brook and skirted a strip of woods. After 
half an hour we saw the gleam of a fire, and, 
guided by its light, presently rode under the 
trees into a space that had been cleared for the 
tents. 

They had done well to change the camp. 
The place was sheltered from wind and heat, 
and a prettier spot could hardly have been 
found. Our tent was up, and the men had 
constructed beside it a most ambitious palm- 
thatched hut, — that is, it would have been palm- 
thatched, but the palm-leaves gave out before 
it was half covered ; so it was a house with a 
hole where most of the roof should have been. 
Hammocks were slung to trees; pack-saddles 
and cooking-utensils were scattered about ; the 
dogs sallied out in grand chorus as we rode up ; 
the fire blazed and crackled, throwing queer, 
moving shadows on the overhanging branches ; 
there came to our nostrils a fragrance as of 
broiling meat, and a faint aroma as of coffee ; 
and, best of aU, on a horizontal pole, between 
uprights, two deer were hanging by their hind 
legs, as deer should hang at a camp. These 
were enough to prove that the hunters had 
made a start ; true, they were the small, brown 



1892.] 



A SOUTH AMERICAN HUNT. 



263 



deer, not stags, but then the party had been 
here but a few hours. 

The hunters greeted us as warmly as though 
we had been separated for days instead of 
hours; cups of fragrant coftee were brought, 
and presently supper of venison- steaks and 
black bean-porridge, with such •' fixings " as the 
packs would afford. Then we turned into our 
hammocks, watching the play of firelight on 
the branches above ; no sound but of a crack- 
ling brand and the murmur of the brook, or the 
monotonous creak of hammock-ropes as the 
men swung lazily, until we dropped oft" to 
dreamless slumber such as only children and 
hunters can know. 

At the first glimpse of dawn, Bert roused me 
softly. I had arranged to go with him and 
Carlos to stalk cervos by a small lake near by ; 
that is, the boys were to do the stalking, while 
I looked on from the vantage-ground of a tree. 
We stole silently through the scrub growth, a 
mile or more, to the top of a ridge; beyond this 
lay the lake, a mere pond in a hollow, with the 
scrubby growth all around except close to the 
shore, where there was a strip of open sward. 
The dawn was now well advanced. At the toj) 
of the ridge Carlos, who was ahead, suddenly 
stooped behind a bush, with a cpiick sign of 
caution to us. We crept up on all-fours and 
looked down over the lake. There, knee-deep 
in the water and calmly drinking, was a stag. 

1 think both the boys had an attack of buck- 
fever when they saw those antlers. But — whift"! 
there came just a waft of air on cur imcks, and 
going right toward the stag. He raised his 
noble head, — such a sight! — snitied the air, 
came to the shore, sniffed again, and began to 
move oft" uneasily. The boys raceil along be- 
hind the ridge to head him, but it was too late. 
Those antlers never adorned Bert's room, though 
he has plenty of other hunting-trophies. 

We followed the tracks for half a mile, until it 
was clear that the chase was hopeless. The boys 
fumed a little, but agreed that pros])e(ts were 
encouraging, and their spirits went up 10 boiling- 
heat when we returned to the lake and found 
the marks of more than one cervo along the 
banks ; mingleil with these, too, were numerous 
trails of the small deer, and, best of all. the 
unmistakable three-toed traiks of tajiirs. No 



doubt this was a regular drinking-place for 
forest animals, and by watching at night, the 
usual drinking-time, a cervo or a tapir might be 
bagged. Disappointment gave way to hope. 
Bert had visions of antlers with ten prongs, and 
Carlos talked of a tapir-skin lariat as if he al- 
ready had the dead tapir at his feet. The sun 
was rising gloriously ; we took a cool dip in the 
lake, of course carefully avoiding the side where 
tracks were numerous, and then hurried back to 
our camp. 

There a new excitement awaited us. Vi- 
cente, exploring the woods up-stream, had struck 
the fresh trail of wild hogs — a large drove, he 
said, and they must have passed during the 
night. Probably they were feeding within a 
few miles, and could easily be brought to bay 
with the dogs. 

Dolly had thoughtfully urged forward the 
morning repast, well knowing that there would 
be no time to lose. You should have seen the 
boys go through that meal, talking all the time, 
with their mouths full of corn-cake, and Bert 
hammering at fresh cartridges the while. 

In five minutes we were ready — Bert, Carlos, 
\'icente, and Pedro with their guns ; I with a 
revolver strapped to my waist and an insect-net 
in my hand, ready for peace or war ; and the 
dogs in great excitement circling about any- 
where. David went oft' to hunt alone, and the 
other men stayed by the camp to complete their 
too-aspiring hut. It never got beyond half a 



covenng. 



The stream by our camp and above it for a 
long distance was bordered by a strij) of beau- 
tiful forest. Vicente led us (juietly along the 
skirts of this wood about a mile, and then 
turned under the trees to a bit of swampy 
grountl within. The ilogs, running ahead, were 
already yelping as only Vicente's dogs could, 
and no wonder, for the nuiil was covered with 
l)ig-tracks where a large herd had been feed- 
ing, probably just before daybreak. 

The trail passed uji-stream, always in the 
wood ; soon the dogs were racing after it, noses 
to the ground, and at first yelj)ing madly ; but 
after a bit they settled down to their work, and 
wc heard their signals onlv at intervals. We 
scrambled on as fa.st as we could, now cutting 
our way through the woods, now running along 



264 



A SOUTH AMERICAN HUNT. 



[Feb. 



the edge, each man for himself, but all strug- I had heard shouts in the distance, and knew 

gling to catch up with the pack. Stopping to that our hunters must have found the game, 

net an insect or two, I was soon distanced hope- Presently our dog Boca-negra broke through 

lessly, so, to make the best of it, I found a good the bushes and ran up wagging and whining, as 

spot and descended to the less exciting pursuit triumphant as a dog could be. A minute after, 

of bugs and butterflies. the hunters — all except Pedro — trooped up 




WE CREPT UP ON ALL-FOURS AND LOOKED DOWN OVER THE LAKE. 



It is not uninteresting work, and my captures 
were good ; by noon my boxes and bottles were 
full, and I strolled down to the stream, where 
the trees grew thinly, forming a lovely open 
glade. A tiny cascade looked so inviting that I 
immediately stuck my head under it, and came 
out with my hair and half my shirt dripping. 
Then I threw myself on the bank, watching the 
play of sunlight on the pool below, while I dis- 
cussed the lunch that Dolly had provided. The 
ferns bent down lovingly to the pool; a hum- 
ming-bird came to bathe, poising its tiny body 
over the water and flashing green and crimson 
from its helmet, then dipping twice or thrice 
and darting off to plume itself on a neighboring 
twig. I have seen large moths bathing and 
drinking in the same way. 



with the rest of the dogs, Vicente bending under 
the weight of a pig that was slung over his back. 
They had found the drove, about thirty, a 
mile farther up-stream ; the pigs were gathered 
in a little open space, clicking their white tusks 
at the dogs, and making no attempts to escape ; 
the dogs were barking furiously, but kept a safe 
distance — all except one that had ventured too 
close and was lying on the ground, a victim to 
his own rashness ; he had yelped his last yelp. 
Vicente, who was ahead, called to the boys to 
be careful, and climb a tree if the drove charged, 
as these animals sometimes do. Bert plunged 
through the bushes, and came up to the pigs on 
one side while they were still engaged with the 
dogs. Seeing his chance, he picked out the lar- 
gest one within range and knocked it over neatly 



1892. 1 



A SOUTH AMERKAX HUNT. 



265 



with a shoulder-shot. At that the (h-ove broke 
and raced off through the woods. Vicente took 
a flying shot, but only wounded one ; they fol- 
lowed for a mile or more, but the trail ran 
through a tough thicket of bamboos, where 
their progress was so slow that the hunters had 
to give up the chase. 

They then returned to the dead pig, waited 
for the dogs to come in, and, about noon, 
started back to camp. All were in high spirits, 
though Vicente growled a little about his lost 
dog, and vowed never to set his pack on a pig- 
trail again. Pedro was missing, but could take 
care of himself; so we went on. 

The pig was one of the kind called cnififi/, the 
smaller of two species found in this region; it 
generally goes in droves, sometimes of a hundred 
or more, and its chase is quite dangerous enough 
to be exciting. I have heard of hunters treed 






We found David in camp, and he had brought 
another deer ; one of the men had shot a brace 
of j)heasant-like birds ; and, late in the day, Pe- 
dro came staggering in under the weight of a 
great forco, the larger species of wild hog. 
The trail had carried him across ravines and 
over a rocky hill, until he came on the hogs 
(there were a pair) in a little thicket. His first 
shot secured one. It weighetl about a hundred 
pounds, and Pedro carried it nearly eight miles, 

^\'c remained at Taquarassu a week, but I 
have no space to tell you all of our adventures : 
how we watched at night by the lake and saw 
more cervos, but got none; how Vicente shot 
an ant-eater, and Bert and Carlos between them 
bagged a young tapir. 

It was a successful hunt, though we got no 
stags. The week's sport counted up seven 
deer, three wild hogs (one the larger species), 




^-^W 







--^^^ 



^^ 



'"If 




'"^ 



t 



«-ts 



"TIIK IICMKKS TKlhirKU If Willi THK REST OK THE DOGS." 






by pigs, and besieged for hours. A pack of an ant-eater, a young tapir, and as much small 

wolves is hardly more to be dreaded than a game as the men had cared to shoot. We 

score of caititus, if they have the courage to were a very tired and very happy party when 

charge. we reached Chapada late Saturilay night. 



TOM PAULDING. 

[A Tale of Treasure Trove in the Streets of New York. 



By Brander Matthews. 




[ Begun in the November number. ] 

Chapter VII. 

CAKES AND A COMPOSITION. 

EVERAL suc- 
cessive Satur- 
day after- 
noons Tom 
Paulding de- 
voted to the 
box of old 
papers, care- 
fully going 
over every let- 
ter twice or 
thrice, that he 
might make 
sure of its full meaning and of its exact bear- 
ing on the problems to be solved. With like 
industry he read through the old newspapers 
and the cuttings therefrom which made up 
more than half the contents of the box. In 
these newspapers Tom found nothing relating 
to his investigation; but he discovered much in 
them that was amusing; and the glimpse of 
old New York they gave seemed to him so 
strange that Tom began to take interest in the 
early history of his native city. The more 
thoroughly he came to know the annals of 
New York, the prouder he was that he and 
his had been New-Yorkers for five generations 
at least. 

One Saturday morning, early in December, 
about a month after Mrs. Paulding had given 
her son permission to take the box of old pa- 
pers, Tom was going out to get his mother the 
ingredients for a batch of cakes she had to 
bake for a customer. Mrs. Paulding was fond 
of cooking, and she made delicious broths and 
jellies ; but her special gift was for baking cake. 
When the New York Exchange for Woman's 



Work was opened, Mrs. Paulding sent to it for 
sale a Washington pie, made after a receipt 
which had been a tradition in the family, even be- 
fore the days of Mrs. Nicholas Paulding, Tom's 
great-grandmother. The purchaser of this deli- 
cacy was so delighted with it that she went 
again to the exchange and asked for another. 
So in time it came about that Mrs. Paulding 
was one of the ladies who eke out a slender 
income by making soups, jellies, and cakes to 
order for the customers of this Woman's Ex- 
change. 

In this pleasant labor Tom and Pauline were 
always anxious to aid. Polly had much of her 
mother's lightness of touch, and was already 
well skilled as a maker of what she chose to 
call " seedaway cake," — because it was thus 
that she first had tried to name a cake flavored 
with caraway seeds. Tom had no liking for 
the kitchen, but he was glad to do what chores 
he could and to run all his mother's errands. 
Besides, Mrs. Paulding, with motherly fore- 
thought, was wont to contrive that there should 
be left over, now and again, small balls of 
dough, which she molded in little tins and 
baked for Tom and for Polly. These, how- 
ever, were accidental delights to which they 
looked forward whenever their mother had a 
lot of cakes to make. 

The Careful Katie did not always approve 
of Mrs. Paulding's invasion of her kitchen to 
make cake for others ; but she always was 
pleased to see the little cakes which might lie 
a-baking in a corner of the oven as a treat for 
Tom and for Polly. 

" It 's a sweet tooth they have, both o' the 
childer," she said. 

Polly had just called to her brother, " Oh, 
Tom, don't go out till you have given me that 
'rithmetic of yours ! " 



" All right," answered her brother. 



266 



TOM PAULDING. 



267 



Just then Katie left the room, and Polly 
again delayed Tom's departure. 

" When you were little," she said, " and 
Katie used to say you had a sweet tooth in 



'• I did not know you were studying Greek," 
she said. 

'• 1 'm not." Tom answered. " That is n't 
really Cireek. It 's just my name in Greek let- 



your head, did it make you open your mouth, ters — I got them out of the end of the dic- 
and feel your teeth, and wonder why she said tionary, you know. Besides, I did that years 



you had only one? Because I did, — and I 
used to be afraid that perhaps if I ate too 
much cake I might lose my sweet tooth and 
not be able to taste it any more." 

" You did lose all that set of sweet teeth, 
my dear," remarked Mrs. Paulding, smiling at 



ago 



1 have n't used that book since 1 was 
eleven." 

Then he took the list of things his mother 
wished him to get, and went out. 

When he came back, Pauline danced out to 
meet him, waving a i)aper above her head with 



Polly, as she weighed out the powdered sugar one hand, while with the other she kept tight 



for her frosting. 

" But I 've got a new set of them," Polly 
replied, "and 1 'm sure that 1 like cake now 
more than ever." 

" There was one of Katie's sayings that used 
to worry me," said Tom ; " and that was when 
she pretended to be tired of talking to us, and 
declared that she would n't waste her breath on 
us. That made me think that perhaps we had 
only just so much breath each, and that if we 
wasted it when we were )^oung, we shoukl n't 
have any left when we were grown up — " 

" I used to think that too," interrupted 
Pauline. 

" And I thought that it would be horrible," 
continued her brother, " to be an old man, and 
not be able to speak. So when I went to bed, 
sometimes I used to save my lirealh, keeping it 
in as long as I coukl." 

" I wish I 'd thought of that," Polly declared. 
" But I tlid n't. Now, where 's that 'rithme- 
tic ? " she added, seeing that her brother had 
again started to go. 

" I '11 get it for you," Tom answered. '• It 's 
in niy room." 

In a minute he returneil witli the book in his 
hand. 

Across the cov^r were written the following 
characters : 

Toil. Tt'XO/.V.V,''? Ji'i^J/.. 

Polly took the volume, and, seeing lliis 
strange legend, she asked at once, " What 's 
that?" 

••riiat?" echoed Tom. •■ Oh. that 's 
Greek." 

Mrs. Paulding looked around in surprise. 



hold of the kitten which had climbed to her 
shoulder. 

" (iuess what I 've found I" she cried; "and 
guess where I found it ! " 

Tom went into the dining-room to make his 
report to his mother. Then he turned to Polly 
and said : '• Well, and what did you find ? " 

" I found this — in your 'rithmetic," she an- 




%^ 



'.V 



¥ 



"■r.i'KSs wiiAi 1 '\i. Kocsnl' mik ckiei>." 

swerod. opening the jiaper and holding it be- 
fore him. "It 's one of your compositions, 
written when you were younger than I am 
now — when yini were only ten. It 's about 
money — and Marmee and I don't think that it 
is so bad, considering how very young you 
were when vou wrote it." 



268 



TOM PAULDING. 



[Feb. 



Mrs. Paulding smiled, but said nodiing. The signature and the date under it are omit- 

" Let me see! " cried Tom, holding out his ted, but the latter showed that Tom was just 
hand. ten years and three months old when he com- 

" Will you promise to give it back ? " she posed it : 
asked, retreating behind her mother. 

" It 's mine, is n't it ? " he replied. 

" But I want to keep it. I would 
like to show it to our teacher and to 
some of the girls, because it is so 
funny. I can tell them that a little 
boy wrote it, without telhng who it 
was. It was a good subject to write 
about, I think. Just think what I 've 
got to do a composition on next 
week! On 'Loyalty!' What can I 
write about Loyalty ? That 's one of 
those head-in-the-air words I never 
have anything to say about. The 
teachers we had last year used to 
let us write descriptive compositions. 
I wrote one on ' A Walk in River- 
side Park,' and I told all about the 
little girl's tomb with the urn on it, 
you know. And we kept changing 
teachers, and I handed in that composition " What I like about it," said Polly, stooping so 
three times ! " that the kitten could jump off her shoulder, " is 

" O Pauline ! " said her mother, reproachfully, the way you have numbered the lines. Those 

" Well," the little girl explained, " I wrote it Xs and Vs take up a lot more space than plain 
over every time and made it longer and fixed it figures, and they help to fill up beautifully. Our 
up a bit. It 's so hard to think of things to say teacher now wants us to write forty lines, but 
when you have to write a composition." she won't let us number them — is n't that 

" Let me have mine now," said Tom, " and mean ? " 
I '11 give it back." " I suppose you could write a very different 



MONEY. 

I Money is one of the most useful things in the world 

II and if it was not foi- money we should not have 

III half the comforts and emploments which we have. Money 

IV is a great thing and goes a great sometimes. There 

V are a great many kinds of coins of different nations 

VI the Enghsh, the French, the American, the Austriun, and the 

VII Russian, and a great many otliers kinds of coins, 

VIII There has been a great deal of money spent in 

IX the war, To pay the soldier, and to buy the imple- 

X ments of war, such as cannons, mortars, and cannans balls 
and powder, and some of it to give to the widows 
of the soldierds who have been killed, There are 

two kinds of Money, one kind of wliich is paper 
and the otlier kind is speice which is coin such 
as gold silver and copper The coin, of the United 

States are eagles, dollars, dimes, cents, and 

XVII, mills, These are gold silver and copper. The 

XVIII, Eagles dollars are gold, dollars dimes half dimes are sil- 

XIX, ver, cents and half cents are copper.. Besides the paper 

XX money of the United States, which are the loo, lo, 5 

XXI dollars and less. 



XI 

XII 

XIII 

XIV 

XV 

XVI, 



" Honest ? " she asked. 

" Certain sure," he answered. 



composition on the same subject now, Tom, 
since you have been in search of the money 



" Hands across your heart ? " she inquired, stolen from your great-grandfather," Mrs. Paul- 



holding out the paper. 

" Never see the back of my neck again, if I 
don't ! " declared Tom, taking it from her hand 
hastily. 



ding suggested. 

" I don't know," Tom answered, with a laugh ; 
" I think I have learned something about the 
history of the battles here in September, 1776; 



When he had opened it, and when he saw the but I don't know any more about money, be- 

irregular handwriting and the defective spelling, cause I have n't found any yet." 

he blushed shghtly. " How do you get on with your search ? " 

" I wrote this when I was a boy," he said asked his mother, 

apologetically. " I don't get on at all," Tom answered 

" What are you now ? " asked his mother, as frankly. " I seem to have found out all there 

she glanced up from her labors, smiling. is to know — and that does n't tell me any- 

" I mean a httle boy," Tom answered. thing really. I know all about the stealing, 

This is the composition which Tom Paul- but I have n't the first idea where the stolen 

ding had written when he was " a little boy." money is." 



iS92.] 



TOM PAULDING. 



269 



" Then I would not waste any more time on 
it," said Mrs. Paulding. 

" Oh, I 'm not going to give it up now," Tom 
declared forcibly ; " it 's just like a puzzle to 
me, and I 've worked over puzzles before. 
Sometimes you go a long while, and you don't 
see in the least how it could be done ; and then, 
all of a sudden, it comes to you, and you do it 
as easily as can be. And that 's what I hope 
will happen about this two-thousand-guinea 
puzzle. At any rate, that 's the biggest prize I 
ever had a chance at, and I 'm not going to 
give it up without trying hard for it." 

Mrs. Paulding's eyes lighted up with pleasure 
at Tom's energy. 

'* I wish )our uncle Dick were here to helj) 
you," she said. 

" I 'd rather do ir all by myself, if I can," 
Tom returned. " If I can't, then I 'd like Uncle 
Dick's help." 

" Where is Uncle Dick now ? " asked Pauline. 

" I believe he is at the diamond-fields in 
South Africa," her mother answered. '-That is 
where I wrote him last ; but I ha\e n't heard 
from him for nearly a year now." 

" But if Uncle Dick came back, mother, we 
should n't need the two thousand guineas," said 
Tom ; " he 'd pay off the mortgage, and send 
me to study engineering, and get a new doll for 
Polly, and—" 

'• I 'm not a baby ! " interrujjted Pauline, "and 
I don't want a new doll. If I had lots and lots 
of money, I think I should like a httle teeny- 
weeny tiger — just a tiger-kitten, you know. It 
would be such fun to play with it. Is Uncle 
Dick very rich, Marmee ? " 

'• 1 do not know whether he lias any money 
at all or not," answered Mrs. Paulding. " He 
was always a rolling stone, and I doubt if he 
has gathered any moss." 

'' I should n't like an uncle who had about 
him anything so green as moss," said Tom. 

" Wc 'd like to see him, if he had n't a cent," 
tried Polly. " Ikit I 've read stories where 
uncles came back, and were ever so rich, and 
did everything you wanted, and paid oft" the 
mortgage, and gave everybody all the money 
they needed." 

" I 'm afraid you must n't expect that kind 
of an uncle," sighed Mrs. Paulding. 



" Then I \vish we had a fairy godmother ! " 
Polly declared. 

" We 've got something finer than that," said 
Tom, bending forward and kissing Mrs. Paul- 
ding ; " we 've got a mother better than any 
fairy." 

Chapter VIII. 

A QUARREL AND AX ARRIVAL. 



T must not be 
supposed that 
Tom Paul- 
ding's whole 
time was given 
up to his quest 
for the stolen 
guineas.orthat 
he in any way 
neglected his 
studies at 

school or his 




duties at home. He went to school regularly, 
and he did his usual tasks much as he had done 
them before he had taken up the search ; per- 
haps his interest in American history was a little 
keener now that he felt himself in touch with 
the soldiers of the Continental army. His lik- 
ing for mathematics, and his ingenuity in solv- 
ing problems, were no greater than before, as 
the science of numbers had always been his 
favorite branch of learning. 

At home, as at school, life went on with the 
same round of duties and pleasures, the .same- 
ness of which was not relieveil after Tom had 
set his mind on a single object. It was only on 
Saturdays, and then chiefly in the afternoon, 
that Tom could really devote himself to his 
(juest. And this fixing of Tom's energies on a 
private enteri)rise caused a loosening of the 
tie that bound him to the Hlack Band. He 
lacked the time to take part in all the elaborate 
s])orts of his friends ; and although, now and 
again, some specially wild plan of the delicate 
Harry Zachary might for a moment tempt him, 
he wavered for a moment only antl went on his 
own way with little regret, leaving his friends 
to amuse themselves after their fashion. 

.\t first this giving up of the pleasant sports of 
boyhood, even for a little while, was not easy ; 



270 



TOM PAULDING. 



[Feb. 



but as time went on, and as Tom became more 
and more deeply interested in the work to 
which he had given himself, he found that it 
was easier and easier to turn aside from the 
tempting suggestions of Harry Zachary and the 
hearty invitations of Cissy Smith. It seemed 
to Tom as if he had now a more serious object 
in life, to gain which would relieve not only 
himself, but his mother and his sister ; and this 
thought strengthened him, and he ceased to 
regret in any way his lessened interest in the 
doings of the Black Band. 

On the afternoon of the Saturday when 
Pauline had read his early composition on 
" Money," Tom took a map he had found in 
the boxes of papers. This was the map roughly 
outlined by Nicholas Paulding, and it showed 
the position of the American and British forces 
on the night of the robbery. On it were 
marked also the situation of the camp-fire 
where Nicholas had slept that evening, and the 
posts of the two sentries who had fired at the 
thief. It showed, moreover, the course of the 
little stream which separated the opposing 
armies. Tom intended to compare this map 
with the ground as it was now, and to see if 
he could identify any of the landmarks, and 
so make sure exactly where the robbery took 
place and in which direction Jeffrey Kerr had 
fled. 

The weather was mild for the season of the 
year. It was almost the middle of December, 
and as yet there had been neither ice nor snow. 
A bright, clear December day in New York 
is, as Shakspere says of old age, " frosty, but 
kindly." Tom felt the bracing effect of the breeze 
as he stepped briskly along. What he wished 
chiefly to discover was a trace of the brook 
which the map indicated as having flowed be- 
tween the camp of George Washington's men 
and the camp of the men of George III. He 
knew the ground fairly well already, but he did 
not recall any such stream. 

As he was hurrying along he came suddenly 
upon a little group of the Black Band, march- 
ing down the street two abreast under com- 
mand of Cissy Smith, who careened at the 
head. 

" Hello, Tom!" cried Cissy Smith. 

"Hello!" replied Tom. 



" Halt ! " commanded the leader of the Black 
Band. " Break ranks ! Go as you please ! " 

Lott twisted himself forward and greeted 
Tom sneeringly : 

"Hello, Curly! Are you off on your wild- 
goose chase now ? " 

" Look here, Corkscrew, I 've told you before 
that I won't be caUed Curly ! And you sha'n't 
do it any more," Tom declared indignantly. 
He regretted bitterly that his dark hair per- 
sisted in curling, despite his utmost endeavor to 
straighten it out and to plaster it down. 

" If I had hair like a girl's, all curls and 
ringlets, I should n't mind being called Curly," 
Corkscrew explained, a little sulkily. 

" Well, I do mind," Tom said emphatically; 
" and I want it stopped." 

Lott was silent. Perhaps he had no answer 
ready. He was a little older than Tom, and of 
late he had begun to grow at a most surprising 
rate. He was already the tallest boy of the 
group. Cissy Smith had said that if Corkscrew 
only kept on growing, the Black Band would 
make him their standard-bearer and use him as 
the flagstaff", too. Lott's spare figure seemed 
taller and thinner than it was because of the 
high boots he always wore. 

" I reckon there '11 be a row between Tom 
and Corkscrew, sooner or later," whispered 
Harry Zachary to Smith. " They are both of 
'em just spoiling for a fight." 

" Tom would knock the fight out of him 
in no time," Cissy answered. " He 's well set 
up, while Lott 's all out of shape, like a big 
clothes-pin. If he tried to bully me, I 'd tell 
him to stop it, or I 'd make him sorry." 

Lott hesitated and then held out his hand to 
Tom. " I tell you what I '11 do," he said. " I '11 
agree never to call you Curly again, if you '11 
take me into this search of yours. I 'd like to 
know all about it, and I can find out a lot for 
you." 

" Oh, ho ! " cried Cissy. " I thought you called 
it a wild-goose chase ? " 

"So I did," Lott replied, "But that was 
only to tease Tom." 

" I do not want any help," Tom declared. 

" I '11 do what I can," urged Lott. " And 
when we get it, I '11 ask for only a third of the 
money." 



1892.] 



TOM PALLDING. 



271 



" No," Tom replied. " I 'm going to find it 
alone or not at all." 

" I '11 help you for a quarter of what we 
get — " Lott went on. 

" There 's no use talking about it," said 
Tom. " When I want a side-partner in this 
business, I '11 pick one out for myself." 

" All right," Corkscrew answered, with a sud- 
den twist which took him out of the circle. 
" It 's your loss, not mine. Any way, I don't 
believe you '11 ever find anything, either." 

At this juncture little Jimmy Wigger ran up 
breathlessly and joined the group of boys. 

" Are you going to play any good games to- 
day ? " he asked eagerly. " Can't I play, too ? 
I 'd have been here before, but my aunt 
would n't let me till now. She 's given me 
permission to be out two hours if I 'm with 
Cissy or Tom, and if I promise to be ver)- 
careful and not to get ni\ feet wet." 

'• I '11 take care of you," said Cissy. 

" And we '11 let you play with us, if you are 
a good boy, and don't cry," added Lott. 

" I have n't cried for 'most a year now," lit- 
tle Jimmy declared indignantly. 

" Then see you don't cry to-day," said Lott, 
taking from his pocket what was apparently a 
bit of wooden pencil. '• Oh, I say, Jimmy, just 
hold this for me, will you, while I tie it ? " 

" Certainly," little Jimmy replied willingly. 

" Hold it this way," Lott explained, " be- 
tween your thumb and your finger — so. Press 
tight against each end — that 's it. Now I '11 
tie the string." 

As Corkscrew took hold of the threads which 
came out of a hole in the middle of the pencil, 
which, if i)ulletl, would thrust two needles into 
little Jimmy's hand, Tom grabbed him by the 
arm. 

" Droj) that. Corkscrew ! " he cried. '' Vou 
sha'n't play that on Jimmy." 

"Why nut?" asked Lott. "1 fooled you 
with it yesterday." 

'• 1 'm old enough to take care of myself," 
Tom answered. ''Jimmy is n't. Besides, he 's 
just been put under my care and Cissy's for to- 
day." 

Lott sullenly wound the threads about the 
mean contrivance in preparing which he had 
sjjent his study hour the day before. .-Vs he 



put it in his pocket he said, •• I don't see why 
some people can't mind their own business ! " 

" I 'm going to make it my business to keep 
you from bullying Jimmy," Tom responded. 

'• How are you going to do it ? " sneered 
Lott. 

" I 've been able to do it so far by catching 
you in time. But before we get through I 
believe we shall have to fight it out," Tom 
asserted. 

'• Oh, indeed ! " Lott rejoined. '• And who '11 
take you home to your mother then ? " 

•' I 'm younger than you," Tom answered, 
'' and I 'm not so big, but I don't believe you 
can hurt me. And I don't mean to have you 
hurt Jimmy here. Do you understand ? " 

" Oh, yes, I understand fast enough." Cork- 
screw rejoined ; " and I shall do just what I 
like. So there '. " 

There was a little more talk among the 
boys, and then they parted. The Black Band 



^- 



,^- 



' if 



r- 




/ . 



'^ 



• .♦;> 



^ 



)i^- 



"^ 



-Y:Ci 



••TOM WAS AllLK TO FIND MOST OF TIIK POSITlOV-i IVT.u ATH> 
ON THE MAP." (SKE NEXT PACE.) 

marched off, Cissy Smith lurching ahead as 
cajjtain, with little Jimmy Wigger and Cork- 
screw Lott in the ranks together. Tom went 
on his way to verify the map made by his 
great-grandfather. 

Just as the Black Band was going around a 



272 



TOM PAULDING. 



corner which would take them out of sight, 
Lott stopped and called back. 

Tom turned in answer to this hail. What 
he heard was the taunting voice of Corkscrew 
shouting after him, " Good-by, Curly ! Curly ! 
Oh, Curly ! Put them up in paper when you 
get home ! " 

Tom hesitated whether he should run after 
Lott and have their fight out once for all, or 
whether he should pay no attention to his 
words. He chose the latter course, and went 
on his way again. 

During the afternoon, before the early twi- 
light closed in, he was able to find most of 
the positions indicated on the map. Some of 
them were plainly to be seen, being very little 
changed from their condition the night before 
the Battle of Harlem Heights. Others were 
difficult to verify, because of the new streets 
and the houses which had been built of late 
years. 

The little brook, which was the chief object 
Tom wished to trace, he succeeded at last in 
locating precisely. Of course it was no longer 
a brook. When streets are run across mea- 
dows and through hills, the watercourses must 
needs lie dry and bare. But there were several 
adjoining blocks where the street-level was 
higher than the original surface, and vv'here the 
vacant lots had not been filled in. 

Across three of these open spaces Tom was 
able to trace the course of the little stream, with 
its occasional rock-bordered pools, in which fish 
once used to feed, and which had become dry 
and deserted. The willows which bordered one 
bank of the brook were still standing. Tom 
was successful in discovering even the site of 
the Seven Stones which had served for a passage 
across the stream where it broadened out into a 
tiny pond. 

In the plan made by Tom's great-grandfather 
these were marked " the stepping-stones " sim- 
ply ; but in another and rougher map, which also 
Tom had found among the papers of Wyllys 
Paulding, they were called the Seven Stones. 
Tom was interested in identifying them, as he 
thought that Jeffrey Kerr might have crossed 
them in his flight from the American camp to 
the British. 

But as Kerr never reached the British forces, 



there was no need of speculating how it was 
that he might have gone if he had reached 
them. This Tom felt keenly. In fact the 
more he studied the situation, and the better he 
became acquainted with the surroundings, the 
more difficult seemed the problem of Kerr's 
disappearance. When that feeling was at its 
worst, he would recollect that his grandfather 
had made the same inquiries he was now trying 
to make, and that his grandfather had suddenly 
and unhesitatingly abandoned the quest; and 
the reason for this strange proceeding seemed 
to Tom as hard to seek as the other. 

Tom walked slowly home in the gathering 
dusk of the December day. The sun was set- 
ting far down across the river, and the clouds 
were rosy and golden with the glow. Tom did 
not see the glories of nature; his mind was busy 
with his puzzles. He kept turning them over 
and over again. He wished that he had some 
one to whom he could talk plainly, and who 
might be able to suggest some new point of 
view. None of his school-fellows was available 
for this purpose. Corkscrew, of course, would 
not do, and Harry Zachary was too young, 
while Cissy Smith was so practical and so sar- 
castic sometimes that Tom hated to go to 
him, although he and Cissy were the best of 
friends. 

His mother he was not willing to bother with 
his hopes and his fears. She had her own 
burdens. Besides, the delight of bringing her 
money to pay off the mortgage and do with as 
she pleased would be sadly damped if she had 
any share in the recovery of the guineas. 

Tom found himself wishing that he had some 
older friend whom he could consult. He won- 
dered even whether he might not do well to go 
down-town and have a talk with the lawyer, Mr. 
Duncan. 

When he had climbed the steep flight of 
wooden steps which led from the street to the 
ground about their house, he thought he saw 
Pauline at a window as though she were waiting 
for him. As he drew near the porch, the front 
door was opened and Pauline came flying out, 
her eyes sparkling and her hair streaming out 
behind. 

"Tom," she cried; "oh, Tom, guess who is 
here ! " 



1892.1 



TOM PAULT)ING. 



"-11 



" I can't guess," he answered. " Who is it ?" now he 's in the parlor talking to Marmee and 

'• It s Uncle Dick," she answered. " He waiting to see you." 
came this aftemoonjust after you went out, and Here, as it happened, was the very friend 

I was all alone, and I had to receive him. And Tom had been hoping for. 

( To be continued.) 



A Year with Polly 




My Dolly Wenf to ride m c\ WcioK, 

And 1 vv)as the Korse \o di-aW Ker ; 
She tumbled out- I vOas running avOoy- 

y\nd O tKere ^^)as nobody savO Ker • 
B^yX 1 found Ker at last in a bonK oi' si\o\^^ 

>\]1 so sniilin<^ z^Tid rosy , 
Just as paticj-it and good, you KnoxO, 
^ y\.S if a \A^cre vv>arn-i and co-*v 



I took Ker '\i\ and put lier to bed — 

I vn^os 5urc she must be free^in^^ ; 
I rubbed her feet and I rubbed" her' bead 

For fear it vOoald set Kor sneejino . 
Now 5he Will soon be v^VII , no doiiR , 

out Ive mndi» a resolution 
To t-.^ko nioiv care wKon she ^oes out 

Of uv/ DoJly*5 coi\t>titution\ 

Vol.. XIX.— iS. 



y^'^"^ 



STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY.^ 



By Charles F. Lummis. 



\Begun in the December number. \ 

Chapter II. 

The Great American Desert was almost bet- 
ter known a generation ago than it is to-day. 
Then thousands of the hardy Argonauts on 
their way to Cahfornia had traversed that fear- 
ful waste on foot with their dawdling ox-teams, 
and hundreds of them left their bones to bleach in 
that thirsty land. The survivors of those deadly 
journeys had a very vivid idea of what that 
desert was ; but now that we can roll across it 
in less than a day in Pullman palace-cars, its 
real — and still existing — horrors are largely 
forgotten. I have walked its hideous length 
alone and wounded, and realize something 
more of it from that than a great many rail- 
road journeys across it have told me. Now 
every transcontinental railroad crosses the great 
desert which stretches up and down the conti- 
nent, west of the Rocky Mountains, for nearly 
two thousand miles. The northern routes cut 
its least terrible parts ; but the two railroads 
which traverse its southern half — the Atlantic 
and Pacific Railroad and the Southern Pacific — 
pierce some of its grimmest recesses. 

The first scientific exploration of this region 
was Lieutenant Wheeler's United States survey 
about 1850; and he was first to give scientific 
assurance that we had here a desert as absolute 
as the Sahara. If its parched sands could speak 
their record, what a story they might tell of 
sufferings and death ; of slow-plodding cara- 
vans, whose patient oxen lifted their feet cease- 
lessly from the blistering gravel ; of drawn 
human faces that peered at some lying image 
of a placid lake, and toiled frantically on to 

1 Copyright, 1 891, by 



sink at last, hopeless and strengthless, in the hot 
dust which the mirage had painted with the hues 
and the very waves of water. 

No one will ever know how many have 
yielded to the long sleep in that inhospitable 
land. Not a year jjasses, even now, without 
record of many dying upon that desert, and of 
many more who wander back, in a delirium of 
thirst. Even people at the railroad stations 
sometimes rove off, lured by the strange fascin- 
ation of the desert, and never come back ; and 
of the adventurous miners who seek to probe 
the golden secrets of those barren and strange- 
hued ranges, there are countless victims. 

A desert is not necessarily an endless, level 
waste of burning sand. The Great American 
Desert is full of strange, burnt, ragged moun- 
tain ranges, with deceptive, sloping broad val- 
leys between — though as we near its southern 
end the mountains become somewhat less nu- 
merous, and the sandy wastes more prominent. 
There are many extinct volcanoes upon it, 
and hundreds of square miles of black, brist- 
ling lava-flows. A large part of it is sparsely 
clothed with the hardy greasewood; but in 
places not a plant of any sort breaks the 
surface, as far as the eye can reach. The sum- 
mer heat is unbearable, often reaching 136° 
in tlie shade ; and a piece of metal which 
has been in the sun can no more be handled 
than can a red-hot stove. Even in winter the 
midday heat is insufferable, while at night ice 
frequently forms on the water-tanks. The daily 
range of temperature there is said to be the 
greatest ever recorded anywhere; and a change 
of 80° in a few hours is not rare. 

Such violent variations are extremely trying 
Charles F. Lummis. 



274 



STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY. 275 

to the human system ; and among the few peo- who will lie with his head tightly wrapped in 
pie who live on the edges of the hottest of lands, coat or blanket and stifle there until the fury of 
pneumonia is the commonest of diseases. The the storm is spent, may survive ; but woe to the 
scattered telegraph-offices along the railroad are poor brute whose swift feet cannot bear it be- 
all built with two roofs, a couple of feet apart, times to a place of refuge. There is no facing 
that the free passage of air may partially ward or breathing that atmosphere of alkaline sand, 
off the fearful down-beating of the sun. There whose lightest whiff inflames eyes, nose, and 
are oases in the desert, too, chief of which are throat almost past endurance, 
the narrow valleys of the Mojave * River and The few rivers of the American desert are as 
the lower Colorado. strange and as treacherous as its winds. The 
It is a strange thing to see that soft green Colorado is the only large stream of them all, 
ribbon across the molten landscape — between and the only one which behaves like an ordi- 
lines as sharp-drawn as a fence, on one side of nary river. It is always turbid — and gets its 
which all is verdant life, and on the other, but a Spanish name, which means the " Red," from 
foot away, all death and desolation. the color of its tide. The smaller streams are 
The twisted ranges, which seem to have been almost invariably clear in dry weather ; but in a 
dropped down upon the waste, rather than up- time of rain they become torrents not so much 
heaved from it, are very rich in gold and sil- of sandy water as of liquid sand I I have seen 
ver — a fact which has lured many a victim to them rolling down in freshets with waves four 
death. Their strange colors have given an ap- feet high which seemed simply sand in flow ; 
propriate name to one of the largest silver- and it is a fact that the bodies of those who are 
producing districts in the United States — drowned at such times are almost never recov- 
it is called " Calico." The curiously blended ered. The strange river buries them forever in 
browns and reds of these igneous rocks make its own sands. All these rivers have heads ; 
them look like the antitjuated calicoes of our but hardly one of them has a mouth I They 
grandmothers. rise in the mountains on the edge of some hap- 
As would be inferred from its temperature, the pier land, flow away out into the desert, making 
desert is a land of fearful winds. When that a green gladness where their waters touch, and 
volume of hot air rises by its own lightness, finally are swallowed up forever bv the thirsty 
other air from the surrounding world must rush sands. The Mojave, for instance, is a beautiful 
in to take its place; and as the new ocean of little stream, clear as crystal through the sum- 
atmosphere, greater than the Mediterranean, mer, only a foot or so in depth but some two 
pours in enormous waves into its desert bed, such hundred feet wide. It is fifty or sixty miles 
winds result as few in fertile lands ever dreamed long, anil its upper valley is a narrow paradise, 
of The Arabian simoom is not deadlier than green with tall grasses and noble cotton-woods 
the sand-storm of the Colorado Desert (as the that recall the stately elms of the Connecticut 
lower half of this region is generally called). Valley. Hut presently the grass gives jilace to 
Kx[)ress-trains cannot make head against it — barren sand-banks, the hanlier trees, whose roots 
nay, sometimes they are even blown from the bore deep to drink, grow small and straggling ; 
track! Upon the crests of some of the ranges and at last the river dies altogether upon the 
are hundreds of acres buried deep in the fine, arid plain, and leaves beyontl as bare a desert 
white sand that those fearful gales scooj) uj) by as that which borders its bright oasis-ribbon on 
car-loads from the plain and lift on high to fling both sides. 

upon the scowling peaks thousands of feet It is a very curious fact that this American 

above. There arc no snow-drifts to blockade Sahara, over fifteen hundred miles long from 

trains there; but it is frequently necessary to north to south, and nearly half as wide, serves to 

shovel through more troublesome drifts of sand, trip the very seasons. On its Atlantic side the 

Man or beast caught in one of those sand-laden rains all come in the summer : but on the Pacific 

tempests has little chance of escape. The man side they are invariably in the winter, and a 

" Pronounced Mo-//rt//-vv. 



276 



STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY. 



[Feb. 



shower between March and October is almost 
as unheard of as the proverbial thunder from 
a cloudless sky. 

In the southern portions of the desert are 
many Strang^ freaks of vegetable life — huge 
cacti sixty feet tall, and as large around as a 



ported from Africa by an enterprising Yankee 
who purposed to use them in freighting across 
the American Sahara. The scheme failed; the 
camels escaped to the desert, made themselves 
at home, and there they roam to-day, wild as 
deer but apparently thriving, and now and then 




THE GREAT AMERICAN DESERT. (FROM A PHOTOGRAPH. 



barrel, with singular arms which make them look 
like gigantic candelabra ; smaller but equally 
fantastic varieties of cactus, from the tall, lithe 
ocalilla, or whipstock cactus, down to the tiny 
knobs smaller than china cups, whose inno- 
cent-looking needles give them a roseate halo. 
The blossoms of these strange vegetable pin- 
cushions (whose pins all have their points out- 
ward) are invariably brilliant and beautiful. 
There are countless more modest flowers, too, 
in the rainy season, and then thousands of square 
miles are carpeted thick with a floral carpet 
that makes it hard for the traveler to believe 
that he is really gazing upon a desert. There 
are even date-palms — those quaint ragged 
children of the tropics; and they have very 
fitting company. Few i)eople are aware that 
there are wild camels in North America, but 
it is none the less true. Many years ago a 
number of these " ships of the desert " were im- 



frightening the wits out of some ignorant pros- 
pector who strays into their grim domain. 

There are in this desert weird and deadly 
valleys Avhich are hundreds of feet below the 
level of the sea; vast deposits of pure salt, 
borax, soda, and other minerals; remarkable 
"mud-volcanoes" or geysers; marvelous mir- 
ages and supernatural atmospheric effects, 
and many other wonders. The intensely dry 
air is so clear that distance seems annihilated, 
and the eye loses its reckoning. Objects twenty 
miles away appear to be within an easy half- 
hour's walk. There are countless dry beds of 
lakes of ages ago — some of them of great 
extent — in whose alkaline dust no plant can 
grow, and upon which a puddle of rain-water 
becomes an almost deadly poison. 

In the mountain-passes are trails where the 
pattering feet of starveling coyotes for thousands 
of years have worn a path six inches deep in tlie 



1892.] 



STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY. 



/ / 



limestone. Gaunt ravens sail staring over the 
wan plains ; there hairy tarantulas hop ; and the 
'•side-winder" — the deadly, homed rattlesnake 
of the desert, which gets its nickname from 
its peculiar sideling motion — crawls across the 
burning sands, or basks in the terrific sun 
which only he and the lizards, of all created 
things, can enjoy. 

Within a year great interest has been excited 
by the formation of the '■ Salton Sea." There 
was no need for mystery about it — the Colo- 
rado River merely broke into that strange basin 
which is two hundred and sixty-eight feet below 
the sea-level. 

The most fatally famous part of the Great 
American Desert is Death Valley, in California. 
There is on all the globe no other spot more 
forbidding, more desolate, more deadly. It is 
a concentration of the horrors of that whole 
hideous area; and it has a bitter history. 

One of the most interesting and graphic 
stories I ever listened to was that related to me, 
several years ago, by one of the survivors of the 
famous Death Valley party of 1849 — the Rev. 
J. W. Brier, an aged Methodist clergyman now 
living in California. A party of five hundred 
emigrants started on the last day of September, 
1S49, from the southern end of Utah to cross 
the desert to the, then new, mines of California. 
There were one hundred and five canvas-topped 
wagons, drawn by sturdy oxen, beside which 
trudged the shaggy men, rifle in hand, while 
under the canvas awnings rode the women and 
children. In a short time there was division 
of opinion as to the proper route across that 
pathless waste in front ; and next day five 
wagons and their people went east to reach 
Santa Fe (whence there were dim Mexican trails 
to Los Angeles), and the rest i)lungeil boldly 
into the desert. The party whicli went by way 
of Santa Vc reached California in December, 
after vast sufferings. The larger company trav- 
eled in comfort for a few days until they reacheil 
about where Pioche now is. Then they en- 
tereil the Land of Thirst ; and for more than 
three months wandered, lost in that realm of 
horror. It was almost impossible to get wag- 
ons through a country furroweil with cafions ; 
so they soon abandoned their vehicles, packing 
what they could upon the backs of the oxen. 



They struggled on to glittering lakes, only to 
find them deadly poison, or but a mirage on 
barren sands. Now and then a wee spring in 
the mountains gave them new life. One by 
one the oxen dropped, day by day the scanty 
flour ran lower. Nine young men, who sepa- 
rated from the rest, being stalwart and unen- 
cumbered with families, reached Death Valley 
ahead of the others, and were lost. Their bones 
were found many years later by Governor Blais- 
dell and his survevors, who crave Death \'allev 
its name. 

The valley lies in Inyo County, and is about 




v:- 



VIEW AM'^NG THF iM 1 I 



one hundred and fifty miles long. In wiiith it 
tapers from three miles at its southern eml to 
thirtv at the northern. It is over two hundred 
feet below the level of the sea. The main 
party crossed it at about the miiUlle, where it 
is but a few miles wide, but sutTereil frightfully 
there. Day by day some of their number sank 
upon the burning sands never to rise. The 
survivors were too weak to help the fallen. 

The strongest of the whole party was ner- 
vous, little Mrs. Hrier, who had come to Colo- 
rado an invalid, and who shared with her boys 
of four, seven, and nine years of age that in- 
describable tramp of nine hundred miles. For 
the last three weeks she had to lift her athletic 



278 



STRANGE CORNERS OF OUR COUNTRY. 



[Feb. 



husband from the ground every morning, and 
steady him a few moments before he could 
stand. She gave help to wasted giants any one 
of whom, a few months before, could have 
lifted her with one hand. 

At last the few survivors crossed the range 
which shuts off that most dreadful of deserts 
from the garden of the world, and were ten- 
derly nursed to health at the hacienda, or ranch 
house, of a courtly Spaniard. Mr. Brier had 
lost one hundred pounds in weight, and the 
others were thin in proportion. When I saw 
him last he was a hale old man of seventy-five, 
cheerful and active, but with strange furrows 



in his face to tell of those bygone sufferings. 
His heroic little wife was still living, and the 
boys, who had had such a bitter experience as 
perhaps no other boys ever survived, are now 
stalwart men. 

The Great American Desert reaches from 
Idaho to the Gulf of California and down into 
Mexico ; and includes portions of Idaho, 
Wyoming, Utah, Nevada, Arizona, and Cali- 
fornia. There have been numerous schemes to 
reclaim parts of it, — even to turning the Colo- 
rado River into its southern basins, — but all 
the ingenuity of man will never change most 
of it from the fearful wilderness it is to-day. 




By Malcolm Douglas. 



If you should go to the play some night 
You '11 see in the orchestra, on the right, 

A httle man; 
And, if he does n't astonish you 
With the musical antics he goes through — 

Why, nobody can ! 



i89-^] 



THE LITTLE MAN IX THE ORCHESTRA. 



2/9 



First he plays the I-don't-knovv-\vhat, whose tones 
Sound just as if you were hitting bones ; 

Then, with a jump, 
He jangles the chords of the tumty-tum, 
And he 's sure to be back when the big bass drum 

Requires a thump. 

Next the what-you-may-call-it must be whacked ; 
And then from the thingummy he '11 extract 

A tinny sound ; 
While the jiggermaree he will wake to life 
Till it sets you on edges, like a knife 

When it 's being ground. 

And there are those round brass things, you know ; 
What 's the name they give 'em? — er — er — they go 

Ching-ching ! Ching-ching ! 
Wherever there comes a great big crash 
He uses his feet, and makes 'em clash 

Like everything ! 

There 's a litde bald man on the other side 
Who stands up and looks rather dignified ; 

But don't watch him : 
His fiddle 's the biggest of all, it 's true, 
But the only thing he can make it do 

Is to go " zim-zim ! " 







f 











m 







THE WINNING OF VANELLA. 



By Tudor Jenks. 



My father was a rich merchant, and I natu- 
rally expected that he would give me enough 
to insure me a fair start in life. Consequently, 
after the celebration of my twenty-first birthday, 
I was not surprised when he told me that he 
wished to hold a serious conversation with me 
in his study. I found him sitting upon his favor- 
ite green silk divan. 

He motioned to me to be ser.ted. 

" My son," he began, " it is time you began 
your career." 

" Most true, Parent revered," was my answer. 

" Unfortunately," he went on, " the pirates 
have lately captured six of my largest galleys 
loaded with emeralds, topazes, and notions, and 
I shall be unable to provide for you as I wished 
to do. But the money, which it seems was 
fated to be lost, would have been only a disap- 
pointment, and you can now show me what you 
are capable of doing by your unaided efforts." 

" It is an excellent opportunity," I agreed. 

" Your brothers, as you know, have already 
attempted to cope with the world." 

" I know," I assented. 

" But hitherto I have not told you of their 
fortunes. I'he King of a neighboring country 
seeks a husband for his only daughter, and 
promises to abdicate as soon as he has found a 
suitable son-in-law for the place." 

" What sort of a son-in-law does his Majesty 
desire ? " 

" He does n't say. Both of your excellent 
brothers have returned to me for enough to 
make a new start in life, after having failed to 
win the hand of this princess." 

" Did they tell you of their experiences ? " I 
incpiired with natural curiosity. 

" Only in the most general terms," my father 
answered, smiling grimly at his own thoughts. 
" They told me that each candidate had certain 
tasks to perform, and agreed to leave the coun- 
try forever if unsuccessful." 



" And my brothers failed ? " 

" At the first task," said my father. 

" Which was, perhaps, difficult ? " 

" Difficult, you may well say. It was to bring 
from the Hereditary Khan of Bijoutery, a proud 
and warlike chieftain, his most cherished bit of 
bric-a-brac, a goblet containing three priceless 
amethysts, given to him by a descendant of 
Haroun Alraschid. The Princess thinks she 
would like to have the jewels set in her bo)i- 
boimiere.''' 

" Pardon me, Papa," said I, " but I do not 
know that Prankish term." 

" It is an outlandish name for a candy-box," 
said my father, who was simplicity itself 

" Could not my brothers obtain this little fa- 
vor for the gentle Princess ? " was my comment. 

" They escaped with their lives only by the 
merest accident," said he. " The eldest made 
a midnight visit to the Khan's jewel-room, was 
discovered and leaped into the moat, some fifty 
parasangs below, if my memory be what it was ; 
and then he swam four leagues, according to 
his own estimate, before rising to the surface for 
air." 

" And the second ? " 

" Formed an alliance with a Cossack leader, 
and made war upon the Khan. But the Khan 
defeated them in seven pitched battles, and 
that discouraged your brother so that he re- 
turned home." 

" Hearty commiserations for my brothers' 
misfortunes ! " I said, after a few moments spent 
in reflection. " And the Princess — is she 
beautiful, that she inspires such courage and 
resolution ? " 

" The Princess Vanella is an exceedingly nice 
girl," said my father. " She is graceful, re- 
spectful to her elders, plays upon the lute like a 
true daughter of the desert, makes excellent 
muffins, and has the happiest disposition (next 
to that of your lamented mother) I have ever 



280 



THE WINNING OK VANELLA. 



281 



known. She is worthy of your highest ambi- And my vigilance was rewarded. At the 
lion, lo win licr hanil would be happiness, first cross-roads I saw an ancient beggar crone 
even should you thereafter lose the kingdom hurling stones at a tree with more earnestness 
that goes with her. And those realms, my than aim. 

son," added my father, with a .sigh, " are always " What seek ye, honest dame ? " I inquired 
.slipi)ing through one's fingers!" in an anxious tone as a rock avoided the tree 

In silence 1 waited my father's recovery from and came most marvelously close to my right 
his emotion. My loved parent had lost several ear. 

kingdoms already — not by carelessness, but "Alas! My best bonnet has flown on the 
through misfortune. From our earliest days my zephyr's wing, and roosts in yon tree," she re- 
mother taught us never to remind papa of the plied, poising another boulder, 
thrones that were once his. She was always Resolved to stop the bombardment at any 
considerate. cost, I spoke hastil)- : 

" Why should I not undertake this adventure " Nay, pelt not the shrub ! Care thou for my 
in ni) turn ? " I asked soon after. burden, and I will scale the branches and rescue 

" So 1 asked your brothers ; but they were the errant triumph of the milliner's art ! " 
inclined to ridicule the idea." My language was romantic in those days, 

" ' Ultimate ridicule is most satisfactory,' " I perhaps too romantic, for she failed to catch 
suggested, quoting a proverb of my native land, my meaning, and waved the stone uneasily. 

" No doubt," my father agreed, nodding his " Hold on ! " I said. '• Drop the rock, and 
great white turban. " Really, your chances are 1 '11 get the bonnet. If you hit it, you might 
excellent. The fairy stories are all in your smash all the style out of it." 
favor. \ou are the third son, and I have noth- My praise of her bonnet was not unpleasant 
ing to give you ; your elder brothers have failed, to her, for when I brought it she said gratefully : 
and scorn your desire to at- 
temjjt the tasks. Vou will, 
when you go, have only your 
father's blessing — whicii I 
w ill furnish. All seems favor- 
able. But are you stupid 
enough ? There I cannot 
help you. The true stupidity 
is natural, not acquired." 

'• 1 will be as stupid as I 
can," said I, wilh jjroud 
humility. '• The lovely Prin- 
cess Vanella shall be mine. 
I am enchanted with her al- 
ready. She shall be mine." 

" F^nough ! " said my father; 
and 1 withdrew. 

In a few days I started, --^ '~ 

. . r 1 . 1 1 • "'FAKE Tlll-E WELL, CiENTLK IIAMF,' I RBI'I.IEO." 

With my fathers blessmg, 

carrying all my ])Ossessions in a silk hand- " \'ou are a noble youth. I have little with 

kerchief slung from a stout statV. I'jjon my which to reward you ; but give me the jien and 

way I kept a sharp lookout for old men with inkhorn that dangles from your belt, and a bit 

bundles of fagots too heavy for their strength, of parchment. I can write you a line that may 

aged women asking alms, and, in fact, for all aid you in time of need." 

unattractive waytarers; for I knew that fairies Convinced that she was a fairy. I obeyed. 

were likelv to take sui h forms. She wrote a few words in a crabbed hand, and 



-■^.v^ 



H 



y 



-^ivf" 




182 



THE WINNING OF VANELLA. 



[Feb. 



advised me to read them when I was in need 
of counsel. 

" Give you good day, fair youth," said she, 
courteously. 

" Fare thee well, gentle dame," I replied, re- 
moving my right slipper, which is a token of 
respect in my native land. 

1 met with but one other adventure on my 
way to the Khan's palace. I rescued an em- 
erald-green parrot from a cat, and seeing no 
dwelling near carried the pretty creature with 
me. 

On the eighth day after leaving my father's 
house, I was ushered by two gorgeous guards 
into the courtyard of the palace where the 
beautiful Vanella dwelt. My heart beat rap- 
turously, and I felt so young, so brave, and so 
strong that I feared neither the King nor his 
people. 

I happened to arrive just when the King was 
holding audience, and he was graciously pleased 
to see me without more than three or four hours' 
delay in the anteroom. 

When the curtained doorway was opened I 
advanced into the audience-hall and saw — 
Vanella ! 

For seventeen minutes I saw nothing but the 
Princess ! In fact, the guards had just been or- 
dered to show me out, as a dumb and senseless 
wanderer, when I came to myself, and began 
to catch sight of the King dimly through the 
edges of the glory which in my eyes surrounded 
the Princess. 

" Pardon, father of Vanella the peerless," 
said I, "the stupefaction of one who indeed 
knew your daughter to be beautiful, but had 
no idea what a pretty girl she was. I never 
saw any princess who can hold a rushlight to 
her; and it was very sudden. I am better 
now." 

" We are glad you are better," said the King, 
" and hope you will soon be well enough to tell 
us what you wish." 

" I have come to marry Her Effulgent Per- 
fectness the Princess Vanella ! " 

" Yes? " said the King, with a shghtly sarcas- 
tic air. 

" Provided I can win her," I added. " And 
that we shall soon see." 

I think the old man liked my courage. At 



all events, he called me to him, and presented 
me to the Princess. For he was a very sensi- 
ble ruler and an indulgent father; and he had 
no idea of marrying his daughter to any man 
she did n't think worthy of her. So in all cases, 
permission had to be given by the Princess be- 
fore the candidate could begin the ordeal. 
But so beautiful was Vanella, and so eager 
were the young nobility to win her hand, that 
they all looked handsome and daring when in 
her presence. I think I must have been attrac- 
tive in those days, for Vanella says now that 
she never admired me more than when I was 
first presented to her. It was love at first sight 
on both sides. In fact, after we had conversed 
a kw minutes, the Princess told me that she was 
" sorry the tests were so awfully difficult, and 
she did n't care so veiy much about the goblet, 
after all, though of course she would like it, if it 
was n't too much troiible to get it." 

" No trouble at all," said I. " I would get it 
for you, even if you did n't want it at all." 

She looked pleased and then frowned. 

" I mean," I added hastily, " I 'd get it if 
you wanted it, even if you did n't care whether 
I got it or not." 

She seemed to understand me perfectly. 

" I shall start after luncheon," I said. "And, 
before I go, is there anything else of the Khan's 
that you 'd like ? It 's no bother to me to get 
you the whole treasury if you 'd care for it." 

" The goblet will do," she said, blushing 
charmingly, and looking at her father to see 
whether he was listening. He was n't. 

" Papa," said Vanella, " it 's all right." 

" Eh ? What 's all right ? " 

" He 's going, after luncheon." 

" Who is ? " 

" This young gentleman." 

"Oh, yes," said the King. "Very well. I 
suppose he will get the goblet first. Yes ? Well, 
then, good-by, my young friend. Good-by." 

" Au revoir," I answered, in the Prankish 
mode. 

" Can you not leave the parrot ? " suggested 
Vanella. " I adore green parrots — of that 
particular shade of green, I mean ! " 

" With pleasure," I answered with a grateful 
glance. " May I ask you to allow it to remind 
you of me ? " 



1892.] 



TIIK WINNING OF VAXELLA. 



28- 



" The color will help," said the King, a little 
maliciously, I thought. So I hurried away 
without further delay. 

As there were no modern systems of rapid 
transit, I traveled speedily but comfortably to- 
ward Bijoutery, thinking so constantly of the 
Princess that I never reflected upon how I was 
to obtain possession of the goblet until I found 
myself upon the frontier. Then I was stopped 
by an outpost of the Khan's army. 

" Who goes there ? " he inquired, as he drew 
his bow and adjusted an arrow to the string. 

" Goes where ? " I asked, waking up from a 
brown study, for I was a little abstracted. 

" Wherever you are going," he explained, 
lowering his bow. 

" Why, I do, I suppose," I answered, a litde 
annoyed by the question, which was absurd on 
the face of it. 

'• Well, what do you want ? " he asked, 

" I want to marry the Princess \^anella," I 
said, absent-mindedlw 

" Why don't you, then?" the soldier inquired, 
smiling indulgently. 

" She has sent me to get the Khan's goblet," 
I said, for I had no wish to go about the enter- 
prise in any underhand manner. 

'• I did n't know he was going to send it to 
her," said the sentinel. 

"• Perhaps he won't after all," I said frankly. 

" Maybe not," answered the soldier; " he 
thinks a great deal of it. But I suppose she 
would n't have sent you unless she thought he 
wi)ul(l let you have it. Would she, now?" 
he askeil. He seemed to be i)roud of his 
cleverness. 

" Well, she might," I said, cautiously. '• But 
if he does n't care to give it to me, he can sa\- 
.so." 

" So he can," said the soklier. '• I wish you 
good luck." 

Thanking him for his kindness, I went on mv 
way. It did n't occur to me until afterward 
that the soldier thought I was a mere messen- 
ger sent by the I'rincess according to some 
arrangement between the Khan and herself. 

Once within the frontier, I had no further 
difficulty until I reached the Khan's castle. I 
attributed my good fortune thus far to the fact 
that I had minded my own business. It is so 



much easier to go into a foreign country by 
yourself than it is to get in at the head of an 
army. My brother expected to be stopped, and 
he was stopped. I took it for granted that I 
could go in, and they let me in. It was very 
simple indeed. 

Now another problem confronted me. Here 
was a strong castle built on a rocky promontory 
surrounded on three sides by the sea, and on the 
fourth defended by a lofty wall of hewn stone. 

I went to the drawbridge gate and blew the 
trumpet. 

" Hullo ! Who 's there?" said a gru ft' voice. 

" It 's a gentleman to see the Khan," I said. 

" Where is he ? " asked the voice, through an 
iron lattice. 

" I am the gentleman," I replied. 

" Go away, boy I " said the voice, and the 
latticed window was shut. 

This was discouraging. 

" What would the Princess say if she saw me 
now ? "' I thought, and then I returned to the 
gate and again winded the trumpet. No an- 
swer. I kept on winding the trumpet, but 
without result. At last, having blown so hard 
that I broke it, I was in despair. 

I sat me down on the bank of the moat and 
threw stones into the water, w ith a strong desire 
to throw myself in after them. 

Then I remembered the bit of parchment 
which the old woman had given me, and con- 
cluded it was time to use it. At first I hesi- 
tated, because I thought I shoukl perhaps need 
the charm when I came to the other tasks 
which the King would set me. However, rea- 
soning that I should never come to the second 
task until the first was performed, 1 drew out 
the bit of writing anil read : 

"IF VOU don't SEK what VOL' W.\NT, ASK 
FDR IT." 

That was all it said. Bitterly disappointed, 
1 flung it after the stones into the moat. But 
I could n't forget it. And as I began to think 
it over, I found the ailvice good. 

" What is it I want to do ? " I asked myself 
" Why, to get at the Khan and his goblet." 
Now, the thing that stoi)ped me was simply a 
stone wall and a locked gate ; and I was n't 
anxious to get into the castle. I wanted to 
communicate with the gentleman of the house. 



284 



THE WINNING OF VANELLA. 



[Fer 




'he called me to hlm and presented me to the princess." (see page 282.) 



Nothing could be simpler. I still had my 
writing-materials, and in a few moments I had 
written a note and tossed it over the wall. It 
was as follows: 

Most noble Khan of Bijoutery. Sir: I have bro- 
ken the trumpet at the gate, and can't get an answer. I 
come directly from tlie princess Vanella, who wishes the 
great goblet which is decorated with amethysts. What 
are you afraid of? I am only a single young man with- 
out weapons, and promise not to hurt you. I await your 
answer. But if I do not receive some proper recognition 
within a reasonable time, I shall report your discourtesy 
to Princess Vanella and her royal father. 

Kaba ben Ephraf. 

This letter was of course handed to the Khan 
as soon as it was picked up, and I was admitted 
at once to his presence. 

He demanded an explanation of my letter, 
and I told him just how the matter stood. 

" I did n't beheve you would allow a paltry 
bit of glassware and jewelry to stand between a 
young man and happiness — especially when a 
lady had asked for it. In my own country, we 
never refuse any reasonable request a lady 
makes ; and in spite of reports to the contrary, 
I knew you to be too brave and great a man to 
depend upon the possession of a few gems for 



your renown. So, instead of bringing an army, — 
which, of course, you would easily defeat, thus 
causing much trouble and distress, — I thought 
I would see what you wished to do about it." 

The Khan said not a word during my expla- 
nation. Then taking the crystal goblet from the 
top of his sideboard, he handed it to me, saying : 

•' Young man, you have my best wishes. You 
have acted Hke a gentleman in the whole mat- 
ter. I believe your name is Kaba ben Ephraf, 
is n't it ? " 

I nodded. 

" Well, was n't there a ben Ephraf whom I 
defeated a few months ago ? " 

'' My brother," I explained. 

" Yes, yes ! " said the old gentleman. " He 
sent me a demand for the goblet, but as he 
did n't explain what he wished it for, of course 
I considered the message impertinent, and re- 
fused it. It is n't the gems I care for ; but I do 
insist upon being approached in a proper spirit. 
I am fond of romance, myself, and if you and 
the Princess care to visit me some time, I '11 show 
you my jewels. I have barrels of them. I am 
tired of them — so tired of them that I prefer 
paste for personal use." 



1892.] 



THE WINNING OF VANELLA. 



I looked uneasily at the goblet in my hand. 

" Oh, that is all genuine," he said. " You are 
quite welcome to it. But," he added, after a 
])ause, " when you come to the throne, there 's a 
little province that abuts on my dominions, and 
if you could see the way to transfer it to me — 
why, favors between friends, you know — " 

I begged him to receive the assurances of my 
wish to oblige him in any reasonable request, 
and we parted in the best of humor. 

'• }])' the way," said he, as he pressed my 
hand in parting, " that gatekeeper who called 
you ' boy' — " 

"Oh, let it go," I said. 

" He has already been beheaded, or some- 
thing," said the Khan. " I 'm sorry, if you 
would have preferred to forgive him." 

" It 's of no consequence," I said. 




"TAK1N(; THE (iOIILKT FKOM TIIF SIDEIIOAKI), Ml-: IIANIIKO 
IT 10 MK." 

"None whatever," said the Khan good- 
humorcdly. " (lood-by." 

I returned to the frontier in the Khan's jjri- 
vate carriage, and had a pleasant trip bark to 
the i)alace. Like many other distinguished 
people, the Khan had been misunderstood. 

My meeting with \'anella was joyful, an<l she 
received the goi)let witli exclamations of ad- 
miration and gratitude. 



285 

The King invited me to stay to supper, infor- 
mally ; and we had the most delicious muffins I 
ever ate. The Princess has never been able to 
make them taste ([uite so good again. She says 
that they were then flavored with our tirst happi- 
ness ; but I insist that it was simply a larger 
portion of sugar. 

Next morning, bright and early, I announced 
to the King that I was ready for the second 
test. 

" It is a sweet little puzzle," said the King. 
" My daughter has another name than Vanella, 
known only to herself and to me. We have 
vowed never to tell the name to any human 
being. You must find out by to-morrow morn- 
ing what that name is." 

I was much discouraged, and did not see how 
it was possible for me to perform this task. I 
returned to my own room in the palace and 
racked my brains in vain all daw There seemed 
no possible clue to the mystery, and the longer 
I thought of the difficulty of the task, the bluer 
I became. Jn^^t at nightfall there came a light 
footstep at my door and then a soft knock. 

" Come in," I said in a hollow voice. 

It was one of the Princess's attendants. 

"The Princess Vanella's comj)liments," said 
the maiden, " and she says this parrot chatters 
so that she cannot sleep at night. She requests 
you to take charge of him yourself" She bowed 
and retired. 

" She cares no longer for me or mv jircsents! " 
said I, bitterly. 

Then I ])ut uj>on a table the golden cage in 
whi( h the parrot was confined, and threw myself 
upon the divan without undressing. 

"Alas!" I said bitterly, "I have deceived 
the Khan ! I shall never be able to learn the 
name — and I can never give him the province 
he desires. Unhajjpy ben Ephraf ! " 

" Mrs. ben Kphraf ! " said the parrot. 

" Hush ! " I said ill-naturedly. 

" Vanella, Vanella ; Strawberria, Strawberria I " 
repeated the parrot slowly and imjiressively. 

It did not require a remarkably keen intellect 
to comprehend the Princess's kindly hint. I 
went cheerfully to sleep, .slept .soundly till morn- 
ing, and awoke ready to resume the tests. 

Put when I had guessed the name " Straw- 
berria." much to the King's surjirise, Vanella 



286 



THE WINNING OF VANELLA. 



objected to putting me through any further 
trials, and as there was no reason for delay we 
were married within a few weeks. 

We invited the Khan to the wedding, and he 
proved an excellent dancer and most agreeable 
conversationalist. 

Vanella was delighted with him, and he sent 
her fourteen mule-loads of jewels as a wedding 



present. My father also came to the wedding 
and gave me his hearty congratulations. 

" You have won a prize, my son," he said. 

And so it proved. 

Note. — Any one who will give a green parrot a good 
home and kind treatment, may have one free by npplying 
to Mrs. ben Ephraf at the palace, any week-day between 
eleven and three o'clock. 




^ r)oFm©M 



By Oliver Herford. 




Under a toadstool 
Crept a wee Elf, 

Out of the rain 
To shelter himself. 



Under the toadstool 
Sound asleep, 



Sat a big Dormouse 
All in a heap 



Trembled the wee 
Frightened, anc 

Fearing to fly away 
Lest he get wet. 

To the next shelter — 

Maybe a mile ! 
Sudden the wee Elf 

Smiled a wee smile. 

Tugged till the toadstool 
Toppled in two 

r him 
w. 




^1P'Rw«^4^;S?'l^) Holding it over 

WS^^'^m sc 






Soon he was safe home 
Dry as could be. 
^ Soon woke the Dormouse — 
Good gracious me ! 




Where is my toadstool ? " 
Loud he lamented. 




ELECTRIC LIGHTS AT Sl^A. 



Bv I. O. Davidson. 





N olden times the gal- The whereabouts of harbors in those times 



leys or war-ships used was shown at night by tires kept constantly 

I^^i ^^y ^'^^ Romans and burning on the nearest headland, or, when the 

£3, Ojy the Carthaginians were coast was low, on a high tower near the en- 

(yf) driven along by oars trance of the port, and sometimes on light-ships 

J^l and sails. Thev had anchored off shore. Occasionallv. if the i)ort 

~ ' neither guns, steam- was a wealthy one, they built an mmiense stone 

power, nor the com- tower called a " pharos," on the top of which 

jiass. and so must be wood-fires were kept burning day and night, 

steered cautiously from point to point of the These lights were visible from a great distance 

coast on the way to their distant battle-ground at .sea; and the coasts at that time must have 

(if the scene of a naval engagement can be been pretty with these twinkling lights, the 

so called). tlaming pharos, and the lights upon pas.sing 

Steering from one well-known headland to siiips. 
another by day was not so hard ; but when .Vs science taught the modem world to light 
storms arose, and the ship was blown out of its coasts with other and stronger lights of 
sight of land, and the darkness of night fell on great power, these were used almost entirely 
the sea, the mariner had many an anxious mo- by lighthouses; and war-ships, through all ages 
ment until daylight revealed once more some and down to within a few years, still used oil- 
well-known landfall, as the first sight of land lamps and common candles or "dips." Even 
at sea is called by sailors. the great Nelson, as he walked the quarter-deck 

287 



288 



ELECTRIC LIGHTS AT SEA. 



of the "Victory," did so by the light of lanterns. 
These were placed at the stern of the ship, and 
were very large; but, as far as 
giving light is concerned, they 
were not so good as the open 
wood-fires carried by the an- 
cient Roman galleys. Some of 
the stern-lanterns used by the 
French and Spanish fleets which 
fought with Nelson were large 
enough to hold several men, and 
were of very elegant design and finish. 

At length, however, electric Hghting was 
invented. The maritime world, till then 
content with the old methods of lighting, 
soon blossomed and flashed with the radi- 
ance of electricity. Now, no first-class modern 
ship, whether a man-of-war or a passenger- 
steamer, is complete without its sets of inside 
lamps and outside search-lights, and the modern 
voyager has his own pharos, not only to warn 
others from his path, but to discover by night 
the rocky cape or wandering iceberg. 

The electric search-light is so mounted that 
its rays can be swept for miles around the hori- 




zon, spread out over a vast expanse of water, 
or narrowed down to a thread-like beam of 
light, revealing with blinding intensity every- 
thing within its range, and bringing up objects 
out of the darkness, with a silvery sheen 
beautiful to behold. 

A fine exhibition of its splen- 
did equipment of electric fights 
was recently given by the " White 
Squadron " on the Hudson River, 
near New York city ; and some 
of those who paid taxes to build 
these vessels had an opportunity 
to see what our Navy Department 
had accomplished. It is safe to 
say that all who saw that wonder- 
ful display were convinced that no 
enemy could steal up undiscovered 
to attack those ships by night. 
The picture shows several of these vessels 
moving " in line of battle," each lighting up 
with its friendly search-light the water beside 
the one ahead^ and thereby making a bright strip 
around its companion vessel, through which no 
torpedo-boat could advance unseen. 



OLD-TIME STEKN 
LANTERN. 




Tllli SHIl'S IJl' THE "WHITH SQUADRON" (,UARDIN(; ONE ANOTHER FROM NICIIT ATTACK. 



WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE 



By Laura I". Richards. 



[i5,-^«« in tiic January numhcr.\ thc farther sidc of tlic first two steps, and on 

Chapter III. the hither side of the next three, and in the 

middle of four after, and then vou were near 

GREEN PEACE. , , , ' , . , , 

the top or the bottom, as the case might be, and 

Not many children can boast of having two could scramble or jump for it. But it was not 

homes ; some, alas ! have hardly one. But we well for strangers to go up and down those stairs, 
actually had two abiding-places, both of which There was another flight that was even more 

were so dear to us that we loved them ecjually. jjcrilous, but our father had it boarded over, 

First, there was Green Peace. When our as he thought it unsafe for any one to use. 

mother first came to the place, and saw the One always had a shiver, in passing through a 

foir garden, and tlie house with its lawn and certain dark i)a.ssage, when one felt boards in- 

its shadowing trees, she gave it this name, half stead of plaster under one's hand, and knew 

in sport, and the tide clung to it always. that behind those boards lurked the hitiden 

The house itself was i^leasant. The original staircase. There was something uncanny about 

building, nearly two hundred years old, was it — 

low and scjuat, with low-studded rooms, and "O'er all there hung the shadow of a fear, 
great posts in the comers, and small many-paned '"^ '^"'^ "^ "^"^"^^'^ '^^ ^P'"' daunted." 
windows. As I recall it now, it consisted largely Perhaps the legend of the hidden staircase was 
of cupboards — the queerest cupboards that all the more awful because it was never told, 
ever were, some scpiare and some three-cor- Just to the right of the school-room, a door 
nered, and others of no shape at all. They were opened into the new part of the house, which 
squeezed into staircase walls, they lurked be- our father had built. The first room was the 
side chimneys, they were down near the floor, great dining-room, and very great it was. On 
they were close beneath the ceiling. It was as the floor was a wonderful carpet, all in one 
if a ( liild had buiU tlic house for the exi)ress piece, which was made in France and had be- 
purjjose of playing hide-and-seek in it. Ah. longed to Joseph Bonaparte, a brother of the 
how we children did play hide-and-seek there! great Emperor. In the middle was a medal- 
To lie curled up in the darkest corner of the lion of Nai)oleon ami Marie Louise, with sun- 
" twisty " cupboard, tliat went burrowing in rays about them; then came a great circle, 
under the front stairs; to lie curled up tluro. with strange beasts on it ramping and roaring 
eating an apple, and hear the ( hasc go ( latler- (only they roared silently); and then a plain 
ing and thnmpiiiL; by — that was a sensation! space, and in the corners birds and fishes, such 
'I'heii the stairs ! Ihcre was not very much as never were seen in air or sea. Ves, that uun 
of them, for a tall man. standing on the ground a carpet ! It was here we tlanced the wonderful 
floor, could touch the top step with his hanil. tlances. We hopped rouml and round the cir- 
But they had a great deal of variety ; no two de, and we stamped on the beasts and the 
stejjs went the same way ; they .seemed to have fishes, but it was not good manners to step 
fallen out with each other, and never to have on the I-'mperor and Kmprcss — one must go 
" made up " again. When you had once round them. Here our mother sang to us ; 
learned how to go up and down, it was very but the singing belongs to another cha])ter. 
well, except in the dark, and even then \ ou The great dining-room had a roof all to it- 
had only to remember that you must tread on .self — a flat roof, covered with tar and gravel, and 
Vol. .\1X.— 19. 289 



290 



WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE. 



[Feb. 



railed in, so that one could lie on one's face and 
kick one's heels, pick out white pebbles, and 
punch the bubbles of tar all hot in the sun. 
But, after all, we did not stay in the house 
much. Why should we, with the garden calling 
us out with its thousand \'oices ? On each side 
of the house lay an oval lawn, green as emerald. 
One lawn had the laburnum-tree, where, at the 
right time of year, we sat under a shower of fra- 
grant gold ; the other had the three hawthoni- 
trees, one with white blossoms, another with pink, 
and a third with deep red, roselike flowers. 
Other trees were there, but I do not remember 
them. Directly in front of the house stood two 
giant Balm-of-Gilead trees, towering over the 
low-roofed dwelling. These trees were favorites 
of ours, for at a certain time they dropped down 
to us thousands and thousands of sticky cat- 
kins, full of the most charming silky cotton. We 
called them the " cottonwool trees," and loved 
them tenderly. Then, between the trees, a flight 
of steps plunged down to the greenhouse. A 
curious place this was — summer-house, hot- 
house, and bowling-alley all in one. The sum- 
mer-house part was not very interesting, being 
all tilled with seeds and pots, and dry bulbs, and 
the Hke. But from it a swing-door opened 
into — Elysium! Here the air was soft and 
balmy, and full of the smell of roses. One went 
down two steps, and there were the roses ! Great 
vines, trained along the walls, heavy with long 
white or yellow or tea-colored buds ; I remem- 
ber no red ones. Mr. Arrow, the gardener, 
never let us touch the roses, and he never gave 
us a bud ; but when a rose was fully open, 
showing its golden heart, he Avould often pick it 
for us, with a sigh, but a kind look, too. Mr. 
Arrow was an Englishman, stout and red-faced. 
Julia made a rime about him once, beginning, 

" Poor Mr. Arrow, he once was narrow, 
But that was a long time ago." 

Midway in the long glass-covered building 
was a tiny oval pond, lined with green moss. I 
think it once had goldfish in it, but they did 
not thrive. When Mr. Arrow was gone to din- 
ner, it was pleasant to fill the brass syringe with 
water from this pond, and squirt at the roses, 
and feel the heavy drops plashing back in one's 
upturned face. Sometimes a child fell into the 



pond, but as the water was only four or five 
inches deep, no harm was done save to stock- 
ings and petticoats. 

The bowling-alley was divided by a low par- 
tition from the hothouse, so that, when we 
went to play at Planets, we breathed the same 
soft perfumed air. The planets were the balls. 
The biggest one was Uranus, then came Saturn, 
and so on down to Mercury, a little dot of a 
ball. They were of some dark, hard, foreign 
wood, very smooth, with a dusky polish. It 
was a great delight to roll them, either over the 
smooth floor, against the ninepins, or along the 
rack at the side. When one rolled Uranus or 
Jupiter, it sounded like thunder — Olympian 
thunder, suggestive of angry gods. Then the 
musical tinkle of the pins, as they clinked and 
fell together ! Sometimes they were British 
soldiers, and we the Continentals firing the 
" iron six-pounder " from the other end of the 
battle-field. Sometimes, regardless of dates, we 
introduced artillery into the Trojan war, and 
Hector bowled Achilles oft" his legs, or vice 
versa. 

The bowling-alley was also used for other 
sports. It was here that Flossy gave a grand 
party for " Cotchy," her precious Maltese cat. 
All the cat-owning little girls in the neighbor- 
hood were invited, and about twelve came, each 
bringing her pet in a basket. Cotchy was beauti- 
fully dressed in a cherry-colored ribbon, which 
set off her gray satiny coat to perfection. She 
received her guests with much dignity, but was 
not inclined to do much toward entertaining 
them. Flossy tried to make the twelve cats 
play with one another, but they were shy on first 
acquaintance, and a little stiff". Perhaps Flossy 
did not, in those days, know the proper etiquette 
for introducing cats, though since then she has 
studied all kinds of etiquette thoroughly. But 
the little girls enjoyed themselves, if the cats did 
not, and there Avas a great deal of chattering 
and comparing notes. Then came the feast, 
which consisted of milk and fish-bones, and next 
every cat had her nose buttered by way of des- 
sert. Altogether, the party was voted a great 
success. 

Below, and on both sides of the greenhouse, 
the fertile ground was set thick with fruit-trees, 
our father's special pride. The pears and jjeaches 



1892.] 



WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE. 



291 



-*^ 



of Green Peace were known far and wide. 1 But in both these cases the culprits were 
have never seen such peaches since, nor is it hardly out of babyhood, so perhaps they had 
only the halo of childish recollection that shines not yet learned about the " broad stone of 
around them, for others bear the same testimony, honor," on which it is good to set one's feet. 
Crimson-glowing, golden-hearted, smooth and I must not leave the garden without speak- 
l)erfect as a baby's cheek, each one was a thing ing of the cherry-trees. These must have 
of wonder and beauty ; and, when you ate one, been planted by early settlers, perhaps by the 
you ate summer and sunshine. Our father gave same hand that planned the crooked stairs and 
us a great deal of fruit, but w^e were never al- (juaint cupboards of the old house — enormous 
lowed to take it ourselves without permission, trees, gnarled and twisted like ancient apple- 
Indeed, I doubt if it ever occurred to us to do trees, and as sturdy as they. They had been 
so. One of us still remembers the thrill of hor- grafted — whether by our father's or some earlier 
ror she felt when a lit- 
tle girl, who had come 
to spend the afternoon, 
picked up a fallen 
peach and ate it, with- 
out asking leave. It 
seemed a dreadful 
thing not to know that 
the garden was a field 
of honor. As to the 
proverbial sweetness 
of stolen fruit, we knew - " 
nothing about it. The 
fruit was sweet enough 
from our dear father's 
hand, and, as I said, he 
gave us plenty of it. 
How was it, I 
wonder, that this sense 
of honor seemed some- 
times to stay in the 
garden and not al- 
ways to come into the 
house ? For as I write 

tin- thought comes to me of a day when Laura hand I know not — with the finest varieties of 
was found with her feet .sticking out of the '• white-hearts " and " black-hearts," and they 
sugar-barrel, into which she had fallen head bore ama/ing (juantities of cherries. The.se at- 
foremost while trying to get a lump of sugar, tracteil flocks of birds, which our father in vain 
She has never eaten a lump of sugar, save in tried to frighten away with scarecrows. Once 
Ikt tea, since that day. Also, it is recorded of he put the cat in a bird-cage and hung her up 
I-'lossy and Julia tlKit, being one day at the In- in the white-heart tree, but the birds soon found 
stitution, they found the store-room open, and that she could not get at them, and poor pussy 
went in, against the law. Tliere was a beauti- was so miserable that she was (juickly released. 




^^^vr 



'*^t^^^i^L.r^- 



THE IIO.ME CALLED " GKEEN rE.\CB. 



ful polished tank which appeared to be full of 
rich brown syrup. Julia and Flossy liked syrup ; 
so each filled a mug, and then they counted 
one, two, three, and each took a good draught, 
— and it was train-oil! 



I perceive that we shall not get to the sum- 
mer home in this chapter; but I must say a 
word about the Institution for the Blind, which 
was within a few minutes' walk of Green Peace. 

Manv of our happiest hours were spent in 



292 



WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE. 



[Feb. 



this pleasant place, tlie home of patient cheer- 
fulness and earnest work. We often went to 
l)lay with the blind children, when our lessons 
and theirs were over, and they came trooping 
out into the sunny playground. I do not think 
it occurred to us to pity these boys and girls 
deprived of one of the chief sources of pleasure 
in life; they were so happy, so merry, that we 
took their blindness as a matter of course. 

Our father often gave us baskets of fruit to take 
to them. That was a great pleasure. We loved 
to turn the great globe in the hall, and, shutting 
our eyes, pass our fingers over the raised sur- 
faces, trying to find different places. We often 
" played blind," and tried to read the great 
books with raised print, but never succeeded 
that I remember. The printing-office was a 
wonderful place to linger in ; and one could 
often get pieces of marbled paper, which was 




■' LAURA WAS FOUND WITH HER FEET STICKING OUT 
OF THE SUGAR-BARREL." (PASE 291.) 

valuable in the paper-doll world. Then there 
was the gymnasium, with hanging rings, and its 
wonderful tilt which went up so high that it 
took one's breath away. Ju.st beyond the gym- 
nasium were some small rooms in which were 
stored worn-out pianos, disabled after years of 
service under practising fingers. It was very 
good fun to play on a worn-out piano. There 



were always a good many notes that really 
sounded, and they had quite individual sounds, 
not like those of common pianos; then there 
were some notes that buzzed, and some that 
growled, and some that made no noise at all. 
And one could poke in under the cover and 
twang the strings, and play with the chamois- 
leather things that went flop (we have since 
learned that they are called hammers), and 
sometimes pull them out, though that seemed 
wicked. 

Then there was the matron's room, where we 
were always made welcome by the sweet and 
gracious woman who still makes sunshine in that 

place by her lovely presence. Dear Miss M 

was never out of patience with our pranks, 
had always a picture-book or a flower or a curi- 
osity to show us, and often a story to tell, when a 
spare half- hour came. For her did Flossy and 
Julia act their most thrilling tragedies, no other 
spectators being admitted. To her did Harry 
and Laura confide their infant joys and woes. 
Other friends will have a chapter to themselves, 
but it seems most fitting to speak of this friend 
here, in telling of the home she has made bright 
for over fifty years. 

Over the way from the Institution stood the 
workshop, where blind men and women, many 
of them graduates of the Institution, made mat- 
tresses and pillows, mats and brooms. This 
was another favorite haunt of ours. There was 
a stuffy but not unjjleasant smell of feathers 
and hemp about the }jlace. I should know 
that smell if I met it in Siberia ! There were 
coils of roj^e, sometimes so large that one could 
squat down and hide in the middle, piles of 
hemp, and dark, mysterious bins full of curled 
hair, white and black. There was a dreadful 
mystery about the black-hair bin — the little ones 
ran past it with their heads turned away — but 
they never told what it was, and one of them 
never knew. 

But the crowning joy of the workshop was 
the feather-room — a long room, with smooth 
clean floor; along one side of it were divi- 
sions, like the stalls in a stable, and each divi- 
sion was half-filled with feathers. Boy and 
girl readers will understand what a joy this 
must have been! — to sit down in the feathers, 
and let them cover you up to the neck, and be 



iS92- 



WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE. 



^93 



a setting hen ! or to lie at full length and be a 
traveler lost in the snow, Harry making it snow- 
feathers till you were all covered up, and then 
turning into the faithful hound and dragging 
you out! or to play the game of "Winds," and 
blow the feathers about the room ! But Old Mar- 
garet did not allow this last game, and we could 
do it only when she happened to go out for a 
moment, which was not very often. Old Mar- 
garet was the presiding genius of the feather- 
room, a half-blind woman, who kept the feathers 
in order and helped to sew up the pillows and 
mattresses. She was always kind to us, and let 
us rake feathers with the great wooden rake as 
much as we would. Later, when Laura was 
perhaijs ten years old, she used to go and read 
to Oki Margaret. Mrs. Browning's poems were 



making a new world for the child at that time, 
and she never felt a moment's doubt about the 
old woman's enjoying them; in after years 
doubts did occur to her. 

It was probably a ([uaint picture, if any one 
had looked in upon it: the long, low room, 
with the feather-heaps, white and dusky gray ; 
the half-blind, withered crone, nodding over 
her knitting, and the earnest little child, throw- 
ing her whole soul into the " Romaunt of the 
Page," or the " Rhyme of the Duchess I\Lay." 
"Oh! the liule birds sang cast. 
And the little birds sang west, 
Toll slowly ! " 

The first sound of the words carries me back 
through the years to the feather-room and old, 
blind Margaret. 



(To be continucii.) 




AKKN I'M- !>bfM> liMi EAUl.V : " IIKASK TAKF. <>IK 

ricriKES. I "ll sioi- lauching kighp awav! 



r\KFS ONF SECONP TOfl I.ATF : A NAICIITV BOY THROWS 
A SNOWBALL AS I 1-KESS THK BUTTON. 




AN ALARMING STATE OF AFFAIRS. 

The Scissors : " Now what 's the matter with yoii that you 're looking 
so alarmed ? " 

The Piucushion : " Do you know, I 've swallowed a pin ! " 



PECULIARLY APPROPRIATE. 

Rr-r-r-r-r-rat-a-tat-tat, a-rat-a-tat-tat ! 
Is the national air of the rollicking rat. 




0^fi 



FASHION NOTE. 



Opossum : " What is new in Winter styles ? " 

Hare : " Ears and hind legs are to be worn long — tails short." 



294 



TWO GIRLS AND A BOV. 



15v Lii:ui. R. II. Fletchkr. 



[Se£^„K in the Ncn<eviber uumi>cr.\ breath, and exclaimecl, " That 's fine ! There 's 

Chaptkr III room enough to give a party. And would n't 

it make a splendid place for a theater, though ? 

The next day was Saturday, and a holiday Charlie would make a theater out of it in a 

f(jr Mildred. Leslie Morton came to see her minute." 

in tlie morning as she had said she would do. " Would he?" said Mildred, a little doubt- 
Mildred had made up her mind, the night be- fully. "Oh, but," she added, suddenly clapping 
fore, that she would accept that challenge to her hands, " I have n't shown you my best doll ! " 
run a foot-race with her, as soon as she came. She was a blond doll, having curly tlaxen hair, 
But when she saw Leslie she felt so shy about and blue eyes, and she was dressed in a black 
it that she was glad the matter was not men- silk frock, which was very becoming to her. 
tioned. " There," said Mildred, showing her to Les- 

"I 'm ever so glad that you came," said lie, " don't you think she 's pretty ? Her name 

Mildred. " Let 's go up-stairs, and 1 '11 show is Marie." 

you my play-room and my dolls." " Is it ? " said Leslie, just glancing at the doll. 

Now if there was one spot in the old-fash- "Yes, she is pretty. You could swing a ham- 

ioned, yellow-brick house on Sixteenth street mock up in here, too," she added, looking 

that Mildred was fonder of than another, it was around. 

the attic up under the steep roof It was all '• Have ) ou got any dolls ? " asked Mildred, 

her own to do as she liked in, and all of her feeling not quite satisfied with Leslie's interest 

l)la\things were there. It was a very large in Marie. 

room, indeed, with a low ceiling. The ceiling " No," said Leslie, promptly. '• I gave them 

began at about four feet from the floor, and all away, long ago. Oh I" she exclaimed, dart- 

slojjed up to the middle like a tent. At each ing over to the window, " there 's a pigeon I " 

end was a big brick chimney coming up from " \Vhy did you give your dolls away ? " said 

the floor on its way out through the roof, as Mildred, slowly following her. 

if ihcy were the tent-poles. Then on the " Oh, because," said Leslie, laughing. '* I "m 

side facing the street, where the roof sloped loo old to play wiih ilolls any more. I never 

down, were the two ([ueer little dormers, like cared very much for them, anyway. Is that the 

jiassageways, ending in windows which opened Capitol, over there ? " 

out as shutters tlo. From these you could see '* Yes," said .Mildred. Then, while Leslie 

the Capitol, and the Smithsonian Institution, was staring out of the window, she looked 

and the Washington monument, and a great down at the pretty .Marie in her black silk 

many other places. dress. Somehow Marie did not seem such a 

In one of these little alcoves Mildred had treasure as she IkuI seemed before. .Mildred 

])Ut some iloU's chairs, and a little bedstead and thought to herself that .she was twelve years 

a bureau, and she had laid a ])iece of carpet old now, and she felt a bit abashed to think 

on the floor. that she hael been so eager to show Leslie her 

" What a big, lovely room it is ! " saiil Leslie, ilolls. She remembered, too, that some of the 

looking around the garret. " Why, you could girls at school had laugheil at her for playing 

have lots of fun \\y here 1 " .\nd then she began with them. .\nd old Mrs. Seller had met her 

to dance over the spacious floor until at last she once when she was wheeling her doll-carriage 

stopped in front of .Mildred again, tjuite out of on the pavement and said, " Dear, dear, what 

395 



296 



TWO GIRLS AND A BOY. 



[Feb. 



a big girl to be playing with dolls ! " But 
old Mrs. Seller always was saying something 
disagreeable. Still, Mildred wondered whether 
Leslie thought her silly. Just then Leslie turned 
away from the window and said, " What shall 
we play ? " 

" I don't know," said Mildred. " I guess I 
don't care to play with the dolls. Maybe I am 
getting too old." But as soon as she had said 
this, Mildred repented it. She felt as if she 
had been disloyal to Marie and her other old 
playmates just to please this new friend. So 
she added quickly, while the color came into her 
face, " But I would n't give them away for any- 
thing in the world ! " 

" Why, what 's the matter ? " said Leslie, star- 
ing at Mildred's flushed face. " I did n't say 
anything about your dolls to hurt your feelings, 
did I ? I did n't mean to." 

" No," said Mildred, holding herself very 
straight, "but — but some of the girls at school 
do laugh at — at other girls for playing with 
dolls." 

" Well, goodness ! " burst out Leslie, " let them 
laugh. I guess it does n't hurt anybody. If I 
liked dolls and wanted to play with them, I 'd 
play with them if all the girls in school were 
to stand up in a row and laugh till they cried. 
I guess they 'd get tired of it before I would." 

Mildred nodded her head in assent, too much 
overcome by Leslie's unexpected and sturdy 
sympathy and encouragement to say much. 

" Oh," she said, suddenly awakening to the fact 
that Leslie Avas her guest, and it was her place 
to entertain, " I '11 tell you what let 's do. Let 's 
play house. This window shall be your house, 
and this one shall be mine. And there are some 
old dresses and things in this trunk that mama 
lets me play with, and we w'ill put them on, and 
then 1 '11 come and call on you, and you can 
come and call on me — will you ? " 

"All right," said Leslie; "that will be fun." 

" The things are in this trunk," said Mildred, 
going to a queer litde trunk that stood in the 
corner of the attic with a lot of other trunks 
and boxes, a spinning-wheel, some disused 
furniture with spindle-legs, and all sorts of odds 
and ends. This particular trunk was made of 
cowhide with the hair on it, and all around 
the edges it was studded with brass-headed 



nails, and on the end were the initials J. H. 
F. in brass-headed nails, and altogether it 
was very old-fashioned, and much worn and 
battered. Leslie had never seen a trunk like 
that, and its oddity was quite enough to start 
her laughter afresh. 

" It belonged to my great-grandfather's 
brother," said Mildred, with dignity, " John 
Henry Fairleigh. He was a lieutenant in the 
navy ever so long ago." 

" Was he ? " said Leslie. 

" Yes," said Mildred. " He was with Lieu- 
tenant Decatur in the war with Tripoli. All 
the other countries were afraid of Tripoli, 'cause 
the people there were pirates, and they paid 
them money to get them to leave them alone. 
But we did n't. We fought them, and made 
them leave us alone. And my great-grand- 
father's brother, he was in one of the ships that 
fought the pirates. It was named the ' Phila- 
delphia.' And while it was running after the 
pirates it ran on a rock. And then the pirates 
came and took them all prisoners." 

" Did they ? " said Leslie, beginning to get 
interested. " What did they do with them ? 
Cut their heads off ? '' 

" No," said Mildred. " They took them on 
shore and kept them there." 

"Then they could n't have been real pi- 
rates," said Leslie ; " because real pirates would 
have cut their heads off, or made them walk 
the plank. I know, 'cause Charlie used to tell 
me all about them out of a book he had." 

" Well, these did n't," said Mildred, shaking 
her head very positively ; " and they were real 
pirates, too, because Amanda says they Avere. 
They just took them on shore and kept them 
there. And some of the pirates kept the ship, 
though they could n't get it to go, because it 
was stuck on the rocks. And Lieutenant De- 
catur he was on another ship, and one day he 
went away off, and got a boat that looked just 
like the boats the pirates had. And in the 
evening he sailed right up to the Philadelphia, 
and the pirates did n't know that he was an 
American, 'cause he was in one of their kind of 
boats. So then he jumped on the Philadel- 
phia, and drove all the pirates into the sea." 

" All by himself? " exclaimed Leslie. 

"Oh, no," said Mildred; "he had some 



1892.] TWO GIRLS AND A IIOY. 297 

other sailors with him. And then he set fire " I don't beheve ma wants me at all," said 

to the Philadelphia, and hurned it up, and the Leslie. 

pirates were so scared tliat they gave up my " Do you suppose I 'd come tramping all 

great-grandfather's brother and all the rest of the way up here after a little girl like you, if I 

the prisoners." did n't have to ? " said her brother. '•• Don't 

'• Wliat 's in the trunk ? " asked Leslie. " Are flatter yourself, madam. I 've too many other 

there any of the [jirates' things ? " things to do." 

"Oh, no," said iMildred; "only some old " Honor bright ?" said Leslie, 

dresses that mama gave me for my dolls." " Honor bright," said Charlie. " You 're not 

And Mildred opened the trunk and pulled polite," he added. " Why don't you introduce 

out some faded finery that had been part of a me to your friend ? " 

ball-dress some fifty years ago, a black silk skirt, " Oh," said Leslie, " I forgot. Mildred, this 

stained and torn, and other odds and ends that is my brother, Charlie." 

would have found their way into the rag-bag Then Mildred shook hands with the boy, and 

had not Mildred begged them for her dolls. LesHe, bemoaning the necessity of having to go 

" Now," said Mildred, " you put on some, home so soon, began taking off her costume, 

and I 'II put on some." " This would make a gorgeous theater," said 

And, laughing a great deal, they dressed Charlie, looking around the room. 

themselves in the long skirts and tied pieces of " There ! " cried Leslie, stopping her work 

lace and ribbons around their necks, and then and looking at Mildred; " what did I tell you?" 

Leslie began to parade around the room, singing: By this time both of the girls were ready, and 

" Hark ! hark I The clogs do bark. they all Started down-stairs. When they reached 

The beggars are coming to town, the second floor, Leslie .said, " I '11 beat you 

Some in rags and some in tags, down ! " and sitting sidewise on the banister. 

And some in velvet gowns." ^^^ ^,i^j ^j^^^.,^ j,^^ ^,^^^^ ^^^^^^ ^,^ ^^^^ f^^^ 

Just at that moment a strange voice was heard landing where the steps made a turn, 

.saying : " Hullo ! May I come in ? " " You tomboy ! " said her brother. 

Mildred looked up with a little gasp, and saw Charlie shook his head tlisapprovingly, and 

a strange boy standing in the doorway. said to Mildred, " I wonder w hat you think of 

"Why, Charlie Morton!" cried Leslie, her, at any rate ? " 

"What are you doing here? Nobody asked .\nd Mildred, remembering what she had said 

you to come." of Leslie to her mother, blushed guiltily and did 

" Ma sent me for you," saitl the bo)' ; "and not reply, 

the colored girl down-stairs told me you were " You see," saiil her brother, apologetically, 

up here, so up I came." " she 's been petted and spoiled. She 's been 

He was a nice-looking boy, tall and slender, used to living in a garrison where she had all 

with blond hair cropped close to his heatl, outtloors to play in, anil the officers and men 

and gray eyes with bhu k lashes, which tnade made a great deal of her. She will learn (juieter 

them look curiously dark. He had a rather ways after a while. I hope you '11 like her. 1 

large mouth like Leslie's, but otherwise he did know you will," he added; "everyboily is fond 

not resemble his sister, lie did not laugh at of Les." Charlie saitl this as if he was ten 

everything, as she did; on the contrarv. he years older than his sister, instead of three, 
seemed rather solemn, so that when Mildred 

found him l()f>king at her she was very much *. hapiik 

disconcerted, and began hurriedly to take olT Li-.si.ir. was right when she said that she 

her ragged finery. L'Ut Leslie interposed, and su|)|)osed that she would have to go to school, 

said, " Oh, don't mind him." now that she was living in W.ashington. This 

" No," said the lio\, "don't niiml nie. Co had been the principal subject of conversation 

ahead with your fun. .My goodness! what a between her mother and Mrs. Kairleigh, on the 

jolly big room!" day that Mildred and Leslie first met. .\nd 



298 



TWO GIRLS AND A BOY. 



[Feb. 



when Mrs. Morton learned what school Mil- 
dred attended, she declared that she would send 
Leslie there, too. An omnibus, on the side of 
which was painted " Loring Seminary," went 
around each morning for the day-scholars, and 
brought them home in the afternoon. In this 
way Mildred met Leslie regularly, and soon 
they became quite intimate; and Mildred found, 
as Charlie had said, that she was beginning to 



intimate with them than Mildred was, although 
Mildred had been going to the school for two 
years. Not that Leslie seemed to try especially 
to make friends; she was simply companionable, 
that was all. She was ever ready to laugh and 
talk with anybody and everybody, and conse- 
quently there was always a little group of girls 
around her. 

Mildred, on the contrary, was somewhat shy 




•'and would n t it make a splendid place for a theater, though'' LESLIE exclaimed" (see P4GE 295.) 



like Leslie. In fact Mildred was secretly a little 
surprised when she thought how quickly this 
friendship had grown. She had not a great 
many intimate friends, and those she had were 
among the children of families who, like her 
own, had lived in Washington a great many 
years ; all of which friendships were very serious 
affairs with Mildred, the growth of her lifetime. 
Therefore she was surprised at the rapidity with 
which she and Leslie had become acquainted. 

But she was still more surprised at the rapid- 
ity with which Leslie became friends with all 
of the girls of her own age in the school. A 
week after her entrance she knew them all by 
name, and in a month she was a great deal more 



and reserved. As I have said, she had but few 
intimates whose arms would naturally slip 
around her waist for a confidential walk and 
talk during recess. Therefore, in Leslie's first 
few weeks at school, she quickly formed so 
many new and closer friendships with girls 
whom Mildred scarcely knew, that Mildred be- 
gan to have less and less of her companionship. 
She had felt a little hurt at this, at first, and had 
let Leslie see that she felt hurt ; but Leslie de- 
clared that it was not her fault. " Why don't 
you be more sociable ? " she said, " What 's 
the use of poking off by yourself, or with that 
haughty Blanche Howes all the time! You 'd 
have lots more fun if you went with us, and I 



1892.] TWO GIRLS AND A BOY. 299 

try to get you to. You know I do. I keep Leslie ? She just went up-stairs. Sit down ; 

asking you and asking you over and over, only she '11 be back in a minute." 

you won't." Mildred by this time had become well ac- 

This was true. But it was not precisely quainted with Charlie, so she sat down and, 

what Mildred had in mind. She had expected noticing a book lying on the rug, said, " What 

that Leslie, being her friend, would be content were you reading?" 

to go with her alone, and not care for the so- " I was n't reading," he replied ; " I was study- 

ciety of all the other girls, too. But as Leslie ing geometry, but I got to thinking, instead." 

did not seem to think of the matter in this way, " What about ? " said Mildred, with ready 

Mildred did not like to explain it to her, so she sympathy; for she herself had a habit of 

said nothing at all. thinking when she ought to be studying. 

Then Leslie said, " You 're not angry with " Well," said Charlie, dreamily, " I got to 

me, are you ? " thinking what an awful lot there is in the world 

" No," said Mildred ; " of course not. You to learn. Now there 's that geometry," he 

have a right to go with whoever you choose." continued, touching the book with his foot; 

At the same time there was no denying that " that seems pretty hard when you 're just be- 

Mildred was secretly disappointed with Leshe. ginning to tackle it, but it 's nothing to algebra. 

But Leslie, on the contrary, was quite satis- and algebra is easy compared to trigonome- 

fied when Mildred said that she was not dis- try, I 'm told, and trig, is just A, B, C to 

pleased. And when she was not visiting calculus, and when you get to calculus, you 

elsewhere, or having some girl visit her, she find you 're just about ready to begin what 

would run o\er to Mildred's house and play they call higher mathematics. Same way with 

with her as usual. And after a while Mildred everything," continued Charlie, shaking his 

began to understand Leslie better, and to see head at the fire. " Here I am studying just as 

that she could not fashion her friends on a pat- hard as I can for college, — just to get ready for 

tern of her own, but would have to accept them college, mind you, — and when I get to college 

as she found them. I '11 have to work like a horse for four years 

Charlie, too, was now going to school. Be- just to get ready for studying some profession, 
fore his father had been ordered to Washington And I 've heard my father say that a man 
he had been attending a boarding-school in sometimes does n't master his profession till he 's 
New York. But now he was living at home forty. And here I am, only sixteen. It does n't 
and going to school in the city. He was seem worth the trouble, does it ? " And Char- 
preparing for college, and he had to study lie looked up at Mildred so dolefully that she 
very hard ; at least Charlie said so, although could not help laughing. "■ That 's all right." 
he seemed to have plenty of time for other he said; '"you can laugh. You 're a girl, and 
matters. don't have to work as men do, you know." 

One afternoon Mildred's mother had gone " I did n't mean to laugh," said .Mildred ; 

out, leaving Mildred alone; so she went to " only you looked so funny. Don't you wish 

Leslie's house to ask Leslie to come and play that you were a girl ? Then you would n't have 

with her. The servant told her that Leslie was to study all those things ? " 

in the library with her brother. This room "Who! Me ?" exclaimed Charlie, scornfully, 

was not exactly a library, but a place where " Not much, I don't I " 

Cajjtain Morton had a desk and a few books, " But then you would n't have to study so 

and it was here that the children studied their hard, and learn a profession," persisted .Mildred, 

lessons. When Miiilred opened the door, she '• Well, I 'd rather study," said Charlie, 

found no one but Charlie there. He was lying " Besides that," he added, looking back at the 

on the rug with his chin on his hands, gazing fire, " when you come to think of it, it is n't so 

at the fire. bail, after all. It 's fun to find out about all 

" Come in ! " he said, rising as he saw Mildred, sorts of things. It 's like going into a strange 

and offering her a chair. '• Are you looking for land. You don't know what is before you, 



300 



TWO GIRLS AND A BOY. 



[Feb. 



nor what may happen to you. Who knows, 
maybe some day I might be looking at the fire 
like this and discover something very wonderful 
iust as What 's-his-name did when he saw the 
steam lifting the lid of the kettle ? " 

" I don't see why you should n't," said Mil- 
dred, earnestly. 

" Now that 's the way I like a girl to talk," 
said Charlie, looking up at Mildred approvingly. 
" That 's what I like about you ; you 're not 
always making fun of a fellow. Now, some day, 
if I should ever become a great lawyer or engi- 
neer, or anything, I '11 call around on you, and 
say, ' Miss Fairleigh ' (you '11 be a young lady 
then, you know), ' do you remember the after- 
noon we were sitting by the fire together in that 
house on Seventeenth street ? ' — and so forth. 
And you '11 say, 'Yes'; and I '11 say, 'Well, 
look at me now ; I 'm a shining light in my 
profession ! ' And then you '11 say, ' Did n't I 
tell you so ! ' And you '11 ask me in and feed 
me on tea and sponge-cake." (These were two 
things of w^hich Charlie was very fond.) 

They both laughed at this brilliant flight of 
fancy, and then Mildred said : " But really, 
what are you going to be, Charlie ? " 

" I don't know," he rephed. " My father 
wants me to be a civil engineer, but I think I 'd 
rather be an artist." 

" What kind of an artist? " said Mildred. 

" Why, a painter," said Charlie. " That 's the 
only kind of an artist I ever heard of. No, it 
is n't, either. Come to think of it, there 's a 
barber down on Pennsylvania Avenue who 's 
got a sign, 'Tonsorial Artist.' But I don't think 
I 'd like to be a barber," he added. 

" Well, I should think not ! " exclaimed Mil- 
dred, indignantly. 

" I used to think that I would be a pirate," 
said Charlie. " That was ever so many years 
ago, when I was reading a book about pirates. 
And I made Les, who was a little thing then, 
walk the plank into a tub of water, and I got 
such a punishment for it that I never wanted 
to be a pirate since. But I think that 1 really 
should like to be an artist. I never showed 
you any of my pictures, did I ? " 

" No," said Mildred. 

Then Charlie got up, and opening a drawer 
of his father's desk, took out a little portfolio and 



handed it to Mildred. " They 're not very good, 
of course," he said ; " but still — " 

And he waited for Mildred to speak. The 
pictures were water-colors, and to Mildred they 
seemed beautiful, and so she told him frankly, 
at which Charlie blushed a little, and said : 

" Pa says this one is pretty good. The cow 
is not quite right. I don't know what 's the 
matter with her, but she looks more like a zebra 
than a cow. Still, it 's the best of the lot. I 
don't suppose you 'd care to have it to stick up 
in your garret parlor, would you ? " 

" Do you mean to give it to me ? " said Mil- 
dred, looking up in pleased surprise. 

" Yes, if you care for it," said Charlie. 

" Why, of course I care for it," said Mildred, 
enthusiastically. " But then," she added, " per- 
haps I ought not to take it, because your father 
thinks it is the best, and he might not want you 
to give it to me." 

" Oh, that 's all right," said Charlie. " Pa 
has all he wants of my works of art." 

At this moment Leslie came in. 

"Why, Dreddy," she said ("Dreddy" was a 
name she had given Mildred), " I did n't know 
you were here. Has Charlie been showing you 
his pictures ? " 

"Yes," said Mildred, "and he has given me 
this. Is n't it pretty ? " 

" Why, Charlie Morton ! " exclaimed Leslie, 
" you mean thing ! You never gave me one of 
your pictures ! " 

" You never said you wanted one," said 
Charlie. 

" I have, too ! " retorted Leslie. " Lots of 
times ; and I think you 're real mean ! " 

" You can have one now if you want it. 
Take your choice," said Charlie. 

Then Leslie, laughing a good deal, appealed 
to Mildred for her opinion, and finally chose 
one, which she afterward left lying on a chair. 

" Now, will you come over to my house?" 
said Mildred. " I want to show you what T am 
making for Christmas." 

" May I come too ? " said Charlie. " I 'd 
like to see it." 

" It 's nothing that you 'd care to see," said 
Mildred. " It 's only a tidy." 

" But I 'm a fine judge of tidies," said Char- 
lie ; " you'd better let me come." 



TWO r.iRi^s AND A P.OV 



O 



OI 



So then they all went together to Mildred's 
house; and while Mildred was in her room 
getting the tid\ , Leslie and her brother went uj) 
to the attic. Mildred kept the tidy hidden 
away very carefully, because it was to be a 
surprise for her mother, and so it took her some 
little time to get it. When she finally went up- 
stairs to rejoin them, she heard them talking 
together, and when she went in the room she 
heard Charlie say, ■' Hush I here she is now," 
and they both stopped talking, and Leslie be- 
gan to laugh. Then her brother said,. " Now, 
remember ! You 've promised ! " 

'• What is it ? What 's the matter ? " said 
Mildred, looking from one to the other. 

'•It 's a secret!" cried Leslie, dancing up 
and down. 

'' Is it about me ? " said Mildred. 

" Yes," said Leslie, nodding her head several 
times. 

" Now, Leslie," said her l)rother, " that 's 
not fair ! " 

" I don't like you to have a secret about 
me," said Mildred. 

"Oh, but it 's a nice secret," said Leslie, 
" and you '11 know some day." 

" Is that the tidy ? " said Charlie. '• Let me 
see. Why, I think that 's very swell. How did 
you make all those holes in it? " 

"Holes!" shouted Leslie. "That shows 
how much boys know about such things. 
Those are not holes." 

" I don't believe you know any mote about 
it than I do!" said Charlie. "You nc\ er do 
any of that kind of work." 

"Well, but I can," said Leslie. "That 's 
what you call drawn-work, and you pull the 
threads out to make ii. Don't you, Dreddy?" 

Mildred nodded her head. She was thinking 
about the secret. 

"Well, I think you arc very clever to make 
it," said Charlie. " Will you have it done in 
time for Christmas ? " 

" Of course," said Mildred ; " this is only No- 
vember, and it docs n't take very long. Christ- 
mas won't be here for a month yet. Only 1 '\e 
got other things to make." 

" What do you do on (Miristmas? " saiil Les- 
lie. " Do you have a C'hristmas tree ? " 

" No." said Mildred, " but I get lots of pres- 



ents, and have lots and lots of fun." And her 
brown eyes sparkled at the thought of it. 

" I don't Ijelieve we '11 have a good time at 
all this Christmas," said Leslie, gloomilv. " In 
garrison we always had a splendid time. Oh, 
say, Charlie ! " she suddenly exclaimed, "do you 
remember that Christmas at Fort Jones ? The 
snow," she continued, turning to Mildred, "was 
that deep on the parade-ground," and .she held 
her hand about two feet from the floor. " .\nd 
in the drifts it was 'way over your head. And 
the mail-rider had to go on snow-shoes all the 
way to Crazy Dog station. And the freighters 
were snowed up so that all the things we had 
sent for for Christmas did n't get to the post — 
oh, for ever so long after Chri.stmas. But we 
had a lovely time, just the same. .Ml the ofli- 
cers and everybody got together and fixed us 
up a Christmas tree. Charlie, don't you re- 
member Mr. Hartley, — he was quartermaster, 
you know." 

" We made everything ourselves that we put 
on the tree," said Charlie. " And there were 
presents for everybody, grown people as well as 
the children. Mr. SacUlIer, he got a gingercake 
doll, and pa got a great big pair of moccasins. 
Mr. Sabrely was the clevere.st, though. He 
made Leslie a .set of dolls' furniture — every- 
thing, parlor and bedroom and dining-room ; it 
was awfully nice. And he made me a base-ball. 
And he got a lot of new tin from the tjuarter- 
master and cut it in thin strips — you know how- 
tin curls up when you cut it with shears — and 
he hung those little curls on the tree, and they 
shone just as bright and looked as pretty as the 
real things you buy in a store. And he made 
for the tree a lot of little flags, out of .silk." 

" Oh, we hail all sorts of things," Charlie 
went on. " I don't remember half of them. 
We had the tree in a big log-house they used for 
a theater or ball-room, or anything like that. 
It was all decorated with evergreens, and flags, 
and guns, and sabers. .\nd the tree looked 
fine. We had lots of pop-corn and made strings 
of it, and one of the officers, — I don't remember 
now who it was, — he got some glue and some 
powdered mica t)ut of the (juartennaster's stores, 
and he dipped apples and nuts in the glue and 
then powdered them with mica, so that they 
looked as if they were covered with frost." 



302 



TWO GIRLS AND A BOY. 



[Feb. 



" I should n't think you 'd want to eat them 
after that," said Mildred. 

" We did n't mean to eat them, goosie," said 
Leshe; "they were to hang on the tree." 

" Oh ! " said Mildred. 

" Then we bought a lot of candles from the 
commissary," continued Charlie, " and painted 
them red, and blue, and all sorts of colors, and 
stuck them up on the tree ; only they kept fall- 
ing down all the time, and they had to put 
two soldiers there to look out for them. And 
after that we had a dance. Old O'Shaugh- 
nessy, of pa's troop, played the fiddle, and one 
of the music-boys out of D company played 
the flute, and Smith played the guitar. You 
remember Smith, don't you, Les ? He deserted 
the next spring." 

Leshe nodded her head in assent. 

" What is ' deserted ' ? " asked Mildred. 

" Ran away," said Charlie. " He was in the 
guard-house half the time. But he could play 
the guitar beautifully." 

" And after the dance," Leslie chimed in, " we 
had supper. It was nearly all commissary 
things, but it was pretty nice — all except the ice- 
cream. Mr. Saddler tried to make that out of 
condensed milk and snow, and it was horrid^ 

" I tell you what," said Charhe, shaking his 
head thoughtfully, " that was a hard winter. 
We were snowed in for nearly four months, and 
'most all the cattle on the ranges died, and even 
the coyotes would come right into the post at 
night, and sit on the parade-ground and howl, 
'cause they were so hungry. But we had a 
pretty good time. The soldiers used to have a 
show nearly every week, and sometimes the 
ofticers would give one. Oh, say ! I tell you," 
he exclaimed suddenly, " why can't we get up 
some charades, or something ? " 

" Oh, yes ! " cried Leslie, clapping her hands. 

" How do you mean ? " said Mildred. " I 
don't understand." 

" r)id n't you ever act in a play ? " said Les- 
he. " It 's more fun ! I acted once in a play 
that Mr. Sabrely wrote, called ' The Last Nail 
in the Shoe ; or, the Farrier's Ruse.' That was 
at Fort Gila, ever so long ago. I was the far- 
rier's daughter, and Charlie was my brother, 
and we were lost out on the plains, and had 
to sleep out there, and Charlie took off his coat 



and put it over me, and the audience all ap- 
plauded like anything ! Did n't they, Charhe ? " 

" Yes," said Charhe , " only ' Rags ' spoilt it all. 
Rags was a little spaniel that Mr. Sabrely gave 
Les," Charlie explained to Mildred. " He was 
only a puppy and did n't have much sense, and 
when he saw Les and me lying there on the 
stage, he thought we were playing, and he ran 
up and began to bark at us, and got hold of a 
comer of the coat, and pulled and tugged at it, 
and tried to get it away from Les, and then 
everybody commenced to laugh. But say, I 
don't see why we can't get up a play. There 's 
Mildred, and you, and me, and we can get 
Frank Woods, and one other girl, and that will 
be enough." 

" Good gracious ! " exclaimed Mildred, draw- 
ing back, " I can't act." 

" Yes, you can," said Charlie. " I know you 
can. That 's one thing tliat made me think of it. 
Have n't you noticed, Les, that whenever Mil- 
dred gets interested in anything she's saying 
that she makes little gestures with her hands 
and her head. That 's all that you 've got to 
do when you act. I never could get Les to 
do it. Why, the way you said you could n't 
act, just now, was fine. ' Good gracious, /can't 
act ! ' " and Charlie drew himself back and threw 
up his hands in imitation of Mildred, so that 
Leshe laughed, and Mildred blushed, but then 
laughed, too, and was rather pleased than other- 
wise. 

" But I don't think mama Avould let me," she 
said. 

" Oh, yes, she would," said Leslie. 

"But I 'd be afraid," said Mildred. "I 
would n't like to do it before a whole lot of 
people." 

" But there won't be a whole lot of people," 
said Charlie. " Only your mother and father, 
and my mother and father, and girls and boys 
that we all know. It 's all right, at home. Ma 
would n't let us act except at home, or in a garri- 
son where we know everybody. You ask your 
mother. I know she won't mind. And then," 
continued Charlie, growing quite enthusiastic 
over the idea, " this would be a splendid place 
to have theatricals up here. And you 've got 
so many jolly things we could use, — that old 
spinning-wheel and those old dresses. I believe 



iSgs 



TWO GIRLS AND A BOY 



303 



I could write a play myself, and make it take "All right," said Mildred, somewhat relieved ; 
place a long time ago, when they used spinning- " that 's what we 'd better do, 'cause I don't 
wheels, and the men wore wigs and gold-lace on know enough about it to explain it to mama." 



their coats, and the ladies powdered their hair, 
and all that, like those pictures you 've got down- 
stairs. We 'd look fine, I tell you ! " and Charlie 
nodded his head several times in admiration of 
their appearance. " Ask your mother, will you ? " 
'' Well, yes," replied Mildred, doubtfully. 



" What do you call her ' mama ' for ? " said 
Leshe. " Why don't you call her ' ma ' ? " 

" Why, because," said Mildred, " I 've always 
called her 'mama.' There she is now," she 
continued, as the front door was heard to close. 

'■ All right," said Charlie ; " you go down first. 



'* I '11 ask her, but really I don't believe she Maybe some one is with her." 

will like me to do it." SoMildredwent, and finding her mother alone, 

"Well, I '11 tell you," said Chadie. "When dehvered her message. Then she came out, and 

she comes home, we '11 all go down and ask calling to Charlie and Leslie, who were leaning 

her. How would that do ?'" over the banisters, they all went in together. 

(To be continued.) 






,,ii', 
JJ 



By Anna Robeson Brown 




Krf, yet the might of England had tri- 
umphed o'er her woes, 

I'Lre on the field of Bosworth had blown the 
Bloody Rose, 

King Richard 'i'hird rode hunting, o'er valley and 
o'er fell. 

With twenty gallant gentlemen ; I trow they rode 
full well! 

There was Catesby, and Northumberland, anil 
Norfolk stout and bold. 

With se\ en oilier English i)eers, from ca^^tle and 

from wold. 

TT. 

They chased the deer from thicket ihro' bracken and thro' glade, 
With yeljMng hounds and trampling steeds the forest pathway made ; 
'I'hey drave the deer o'er stony crags, 'neath mighty fern and tree. 
Till the weakest strained them forward and drew breath pantingly, — 



304 



CROOKED DICK. 



[Feb. 



But, lo ! the King's horse staggers, and his rider, spent at last, 

Sees the chase go sweeping by him, ever faster and more fast. 

And the tott'ring steed, now strugghng in the agonies of death. 

Throws his master on the greensward, — helpless, senseless, without breath. 

III. 

But little hands have raised him, and soft voices whisper low, 
While on his misty eyesight now the leafy arches grow; 
Two " children of the forest," clinging, timid, sorely shy, 
Bring the fallen hunter's senses from the death he else might die, 
"Wind the horn, child! — Norfolk! Catesby ! — 'T is no use, the chase is hot! 
But they must return to seek me, so I will not leave this spot. 
Ah, what mishap ! Brave White Surrey, strong of limb, and keen of sight. 
You would never leave your master here, in this confounded plight!" 
The wide-eyed children, wond'ring at the trappings rich Avith gold. 
Never heed the restless glances, and the cruel eye, and cold, 
For the glance toward them was softened and the harsh voice gentler grew. 
As he said, with hand extended to the pair that nearer drew, 







^F- 



/V 



S£_ 



" Ah, little ones, I thank ye for a kindly deed, in truth ! 

Tell me your names, I pray you?" "I am Edwyn; this is Ruth. 

What is yours ? " The guileless question makes the dark smile keen and quick. 
" Mine you ask ? You see it on me. People call me ' Crooked Dick.' 



I892-I 



CROOKED DICK. 



:->os 




"COME, LITTLE ONE, TAKE VOf THIS fl RSE ANU C 



l\ E IT TO V' 



UOR JOAN." (StE PAGE 306.) 



o. 



For I hear my shoulders weighted with a weight of bitter woe; 

Arc n't vou frightened at a cripple ? " 

"^ ^ " Quick the answer: -l-nghtened? 

MVhv there are Joan and Margery "-they said, in loving tone. 

-rhere 's nobody in all the shire that has not heard of Joan. 
She s on her couch the livelong day, and all night racked wtth pan. 
We children bring her marigolds to make her well agam. 
She tells us fairv-stories. and she knows each flower s name. 
While she draw; us pretty faces, and never two the same. 
And she sits out by the cottage door, all m the yellow sun, 
\nd sings us merrv ballads-oh, Joan IS lull ot fun 
And mother savs," the voice was awed, "the Kmg s a cnpple tool 
And has a big hump on his back, an.l suflers just l*^^* >-'• 
And vou know, sir.- oh, you must know, tha hjs >I-J- ^^ ^'"^ 
Is the greatest man in England, and the head ot everythu.g . 

IV. 
The huntsman cleare<l his throat and laughed, a loud laugh and a long, 
And a robin swinging overhead stopped suddenly his song. 
Vol. nix.— 20. 



3o6 



CROOKED DICK. 



For the laugh was not a merry one. " The King 's a cripple, eh ? 
And does he, too, bear his burden with patience day by day ? " 
'' Oh, sir, you 're laughing at me ; I 'm but a little thing. 
Of course, there 's no one in the land so good as is our King ! 
Why, everybody honors him, — in church his name is read ; 
I always say, ' God bless the King,' before I go to bed ! " 

V. 

A clatter in the bushes, a hurried, panting breath. 

The trample of a speeded horse, a courtier white as death. 

"My liege! you 're safe?" — he cried, and dropped in haste on bended knee; 

" The others follow fast, my horse the swiftest carried me. 
We thought you lost! — " 

" Begone at once ! and leave us here alone ! 
Come, little one, take you this purse and give it to poor Joan, 
From a cripple to a cripple, — and remember ' Crooked Dick ' 
The mischief take this dusty day, the very air is thick ! " 
He stooped and kissed the upturned mouth, left in the hand a ring 
Bearing the arms of England, the signet of the King ! 
Then, turning not to right or left, strode silently away. 
Half blinded by a something which was not the dusty day. 

VI. 

The two ran home in wonder. '■ Oh, Father, Father, see ! 
A¥e met a huntsman in the woods, and this he gave to me! 
His dress was of green velvet, his housings all of gold, 
And he kissed me very kindly, although his eyes were cold — 
But, Father ! " here the brown eyes filled, the voice with sobs grew thick, 
*' He says that people laugh at him and call him ' Crooked Dick ' ! " 



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A STRIKE IN THE NURSEKV. 



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FOR VKRV LITTLE FOLKS. 




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A RECORD OF MASTER HARRY'S UPS AND DOWNS. 



By L. N. W. 



It had often occurred to the writer of this in the kettle water enough to wash the dishes ; 

paper that a vast field for research lay open to whether he could pick and shell peas enough 

the student who would devise a system or for dinner in time to cook them that day, and 

method by which to gage the spirits of people, so on. But if Harry was observed to eat his 

With such a system we should not say, on breakfast slowly, to sit still in his chair after 

being asked how we were, "Pretty well," ''Quite having pushed it back from the table, or to 

well," or " So-so," but we should be able to stand by the side of his papa's chair with a 

reply to our friends' inquiries that we were at 20, pensive, far-off look in his eyes, then the spirits 

40, or 60, as the case might be. of the family took a downward course. When, 

Now, without any idea of offering such a on the other hand, Harry forgot to shut the 

system, the author has recorded here simply a door after him, put very large pieces of bread 

few facts which took place in a certain family — into his mouth, or whistled at table, then the 

which we will call the Thompsons. spirits of the family were certainly rising. 

Mrs. Thompson, with her daughter Seraphina The chart shows the rise and fall during the 

Angelina, had decided upon paying a visit to first week of Mrs. Thompson's absence. 



relatives at some distance, leaving behind the 



EXPLANATION OF THE CHART. 



head of the family and the two boys, Alfred, 
aged fifteen, and Harry, aged nine years. Be- The curve starts at 50 on Monday, the day 

fore her departure Mrs. Thompson had serious of his mother's departure, descending rapidly, 

misgivings as to the state of the spirits of the toward evening, and reaching the lowest pomt 

family during her absence, and repeatedly urged about eight o'clock, shortly after the departure 

each one left behind to "be sure to write." of the train, when the curve indicates 10. 



Her husband promised faithfully to keep her 
advised as to the state of affairs, and to this end 
it was decided, after consultation with Alfred, 
that the spirits of the family might be faithfully 



On Tuesday there was a slight improvement, 
and the curve rises to 20, which improvement 
was maintained throughout the day. 

The rise to 30 on Wednesday morning was 



recorded from the emotions of Harry ; for it was due to a decided improvement in the weather 
self-evident that if he was not down-hearted the and to the prospect of remunerative employ- 
others would be all right. Then again, Harry, ment next day in a neighbor's garden. There 
being the youngest, and free from outside cares, was a steady improvement during the day, so 



would not be affected by causes which might 
disturb the other members of the family. Thus, 
silence on the part of the head of the family, or 
absent-mindedness at the breakfast-table, might 
be due to anxiety for the welfare of the recently 



that the curve reached 40 at night. 

Thursday there was a steady and continuous 
rise. In the morning Harry and his particu- 
lar chum, Billy Brown, each made ten cents by 
weeding the neighbor's garden; at noon a fine 



planted strawberries, but this would have no dinner Avas prepared by Alfred, consisting of 
effect whatever upon his general spirits when peas from the Thompson garden, and there 



recalled to himself. Or, in the case of Alfred, a 
tendency to rise discontentedly from the break- 
fast-table, or to look serious, might be due to 
anxiety on his part as to how long the home- 
made bread would last ; whether there was 



was said to be a prospect of beans from the 
same source on the following day. In the 
afternoon Harry's father employed the two boys 
in his garden, so that in the evening Harry was 
possessed of the sum of twenty cents. A part 



308 



A RECORD OF MASTER HARRY S L'PS AND DOWNS. 



309 



of this sum he expended on cakes ; with the rest being due, possibly, to a reaction from the pre- 

he bought a so-called" Fisherman's Outfit," and vious evening's excitement. It rises to 80 in the 

closed the day with a curve record of 70. evening, after an afternoon spent on the pond 

'I'hursday's high mark was maintained on with j^ajja and Alfred, and a trip down-town. 
Friday morning, as it was a perfect day. The This high point is maintained throughout 

fishing-tackle was tested, in company with two Sunday ; but on Monday morning there is a 

young friends, on a neighboring pond. At decided fall, as it was very hard to induce him 

noon, however, there was a fall to 60, due to to eat any breakfast. .Alfred suggested that 

the fact that it was not deemed wise to allow the line should not go too low on this occa- 

him to go fishing again in the afternoon ; but sion, as he thought the depression was largely 



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IHK LHAKT, SIIOWINC. THI£ VARIATIONS OF MASIEK MAKKY b M-iKIIS WI'lHl.S ShX EN UA\ S. 



the curve rises to 90 in the evening, when he 
went out to tea at the Rectory, where he con- 
ducted himself beautifully. He had water-ice 
for the first time, and was delightetl when he 
found that a whole plateful of bonbons had 
been provided for his special benefit. Tiie 
( urve on this night would have gone up to 100. 
but it was foun<l that this point could not be 
reached until his mother's return, for. on the 
way home, being asked if he had not had a 
royal good time, he said, " Yes, I ha«l a lovelv 
time, ami 1 think all the Rectors are lovelv. luii 
— I 'd like to see mama." 

The curve falls to 70 on Saturday morning, this 



due to the fact that Harry was up quite late 
on the preceiling evening ; he also stated that 
he had observeil similar tlepressions even when 
their mother was at home. However, in sjjite 
of the fact that the curve went down to 40, 
the recovery was rapid, so that at. noon — the 
end of the hr^t week — Harry is found seated 
under tiie awning, his Iriend l)y his side, a large 
tin dish containing half of a trood-sized water- 
melon on his knee, and, as he slices it up, call- 
ing to his father, who is just leaving the house, 
•• 1 shall want a pretty high mark now. Papa." 
So .Mr. Tliompson has no hesitation in putting 
him up as high as 90. 




By Kate Douglas Wiggin. 



They sent me to bed, dear, so dreadfully early, ' 
I had n't a moment to talk to my girlie; 
But while Nurse is getting her dinner, down-stairs, 
I '11 rock you a little and hear you your prayers. 



Moderato. 



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That's whnt Mama sings to mc ev - ery night, Cud-die down, dol-ly dear, shut your eyes tight ! 



m -^>*T 



Not comfor'ble, dolly? — or why do you fidget? 
You 're hurting my shoulder, you troublesome midget! 
Perhaps it 's that hole that you told me about. 
JV/i}', darling, your sawdust is trick-ker-iing out ! 



310 



CUDDLE DOWN, DOLLY ! 



I I 



We 'II call the good doctor in, right straight away ; 
That can't be neglected a single more day ; 
I "11 wet my new hankchif and tie it round tight, 
'i" will keep you from suffering pains in the night. 

1 hope yuu '\ c been good, little dolly, to-day. 
Not cross to your nursie, nor rude in your play ; 
Nor dabbled your feet in those puddles of water 
The way you did yesterday, bad little daughter! 
Oh, dear! I 'm so sleepy — can't hold up my head, 
I '11 sing one more verse, then I '11 creejj into bed. 



Legato. 




CiKJ-dlc down, dol- Iv, here on my arm, Xothini,^ shall fri^^hten vou, notiiinLf siiall harm. 



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Cud-dle down sweetly, my lit - tie pink rose. Good angels come now and guard thy re - pose. 



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ELECTRICITE BII-X 
APPLIOUEE. 

^.-/ .//>/!,'■/'■ I'i French.) 



r.\ K \ 1 1, RoHKKR Cain. 



Je chante de ma poupee fran^aise. 
Qui n'a jamais des humeurs mauvaises! 

Mile est toujours tres gaie. 

Kile ])arle ou se tait 
Comme je veu.x — elle est '* Edisonaise." 



FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS. 



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v-:^.!^ 






FROM -FIDO." 




A LETTER FROM A PET DOG. 



T. Nicholas : I am a pet dog named Fido. I belong- 
to a little girl whose name is Sally. She has always 
been very good to me, and I never snap nor growl 
at her, for I do not need to. But I have some young 
puppies to bring up, and do not like the way she treats 
them. I am too shy to speak to her about this ; but, as she reads your 
magazine, I have made up my mind to write you a letter so that you can 
print it. Then she will read it, and it will make her stop doing the things 
I do not like. 

While puppies are small it is good for them to sleep nearly all the time. 
Now, as soon as I have put mine to sleep, Sally is sure to come and take 
one of them to play with. What would she think if I went up to the nursery 
and took her baby sister out of the cradle to play with ? 

One day she took "White Nose," my smallest puppy, and carried him into 
the hall. Here she sat down in grandpa's big chair, took a lump of sugar 
from the bowl, and tried to make White Nose eat it ! Was n't she silly ? 
It made my mouth water to see her waste good sugar on a puppy that had 
no teeth. I tried to show her that it was better for me to eat sugar than 
to let White Nose have it. I even sat up and begged for it. White Nose 
only kicked at it with his fat little legs, and was afraid the sugar would 
bite him, 

I hope Sally, after she reads my letter, will see that it is best to give 
sugar to big dogs, and to let little puppies sleep until they have some teeth.. 

Your friend, Fido. 




312 



FOR VKKY LITTLE FOLKS. 







"bllL IKll^D lu MARL. WllilL NUSt EA 1 TliL SUGAR." 



TOY VERSES. 



By Katharine Pyle. 





"^ ,/ 



The Card CastL 



Up in the high card castle 

There sat a princess fair. 
The castle was enchanted; 

No toy could enter there. 
The paper-dolly princess 

Could see far, far away 
The floor and nursery closet, 

And all the toys at play; 



And, sitting in the castle, 
She heard their cheerful stir. 

But not a toy among them 
Would come to rescue her. 

Now hark ! she hears a sighing, 
Yet nothing can she see. 

Then some one softly whispers, 

" I come to rescue thee." 



" Who is it," asks the princess, 

" Has dared to hither come ? " 
" I am the wind," it answers. 
" I '11 bear thee to my home." 
Now — puff! — out through the window 

He and the princess fly, 
While on the nursery carpet 
The cards all scattered lie. 



314 



The New Toy and the Clock . 



The busy, happy little clock 
Hangs just above the shelf; 

1"he toys can hear it every day 
Still singing to itself. 

One time a china figure came ; 

She had been bought that day ; 
Too lonely and too strange to rest 

She longed to run away. 

The other toys were fast asleep, 
'T was dark as it could be. 

But all the while the nursery clock 
Kept singing cheerfully. 

It cheered the lonesome little toy. 
And so she slept ere long, 

And in the morning, when she woke, 
She still could hear that song. 

" I 'd rather be that cheerful clock," 
The china figure thought, 

" Than be the very finest toy 
That ever money bought ! " 




The Music Box , 




1 1 1" music-box is not at all 
1 ,ike any other toys ; 
There are no games that it can play 
With little girls and boys. 

Sometimes upon the bureau 

It stays for days ami days, 
But, oh ! when once it has been wound, 

Such pretty tunes it plays. 

And sometimes, when the little girl 

Is snugly tucked in bed. 
Between the sheet an<l bolster, 

ii lies beneath lur head. 

Like far-off fairy music, 
It tinkles faint and clear; 



It plays until she 's fast asleep, 
And can no longer hear. 

It 's only meant for cjuiet times. 

Or when the hour grows late; 
And yet it s such a gentle toy, 

It 's ijuile content to wait. 





ri'm:^ 



3>S 



THE LETTER-BOX. 



Jack-in-the-Pulpit requests us to say that he is now 
enjoymg a brief vacation rest. He will address his con- 
gregation as usual, next month, and he hopes for a large 
attendance. 

Cheshire, England. 
Dear St. Nicholas : We live beside the river Mer- 
sey; we can see the many Atlantic steamers that pass. 
The stories I like best are " The Fortunes of Toby Traf- 
ford " and " The Land of Pluck. " We have got a spaniel 
dog called " Bruce." We live just opposite the Liverpool 
docks. Sometimes we go to see the large steamers. 
Yours, etc. Neil Campbell S . 



Portland, Me. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little boy ten years old. 
In the winter we live in Portland, and in the summer at 
Cape Elizabeth. The Cape is a very nice place, with its 
green fields and meadows, its trees, ponds, and brooks. 
There are trees in our grounds that ai-e centuries old. 
Once papa made me a boat, and I took it down to the 
brook and got in it. I was sailing around as nice as 
could be, when over I went and got wet through ! We 
have a camera and we take lots of pictures, mama and 
I. I have n't any children to play with in summer, but I 
have a bicycle, and we have a horse named " Don " and a 
dognamed "Rover." Theother day papa and I went fish- 
ing. The fish were so plenty that as fast as we could 
bait our hooks we would pull up a fish, and got a big bas- 
ket full in an hour. I have taken your magazine ever 
since I was four years old, and think it is the best maga- 
zine I ever read. Yours very truly, 

» Philip H. C . 



Salem, Or. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I live in the capital of a State 
which is known but little in the East, but is, neverthe- 
less, one of the greatest States in the Union, viz.: Oregon. 

Salem has a population of about 15,000, and is beauti- 
fully situated on the Willamette River. 

It has an excellent public-school system, besides a uni- 
versity. 

It contains many of the State institutions, and is a place 
of great attraction to Eastern people, and many emigrants 
settle here. 

" Vive la St. Nicholas ! " 

Your admiring reader, GuY C. M . 



Bay City, Mich. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I am a little Peruvian girl, and 
all is new to me in this country. I am seven years old. 
I came from Lima, Peru. Lima is a beautiful city, but 
small in comparison to New York. When I came, in 
."^pril, I did not l<now how to speak a word of English. 
Our trip lasted seventeen days. I have been in New 
York for a good while. Now I am in Bay City with my 
Aunt Kate and Uncle Dan. My sister Anna R. B. wrote 
two years ago to you. 

Your little friend, Sophy Carroll B . 



St. Petersburg, Russia. 
Dear St. Nicholas: We have taken you six years, 
and in all that time I have seen only one letter from 
Russia. 



I am an American boy, but we have lived here over 
six years, and so I am tolerably Russianized by this time. 
As I think the American .summer is much better than 
the Russian one, I will not write anything about it; but 
I am sure some of your many readers would like to hear 
something about the winter here. 

Before the real winter we have what is called the " lit- 
tle winter," a few days of snow and frost. The real win- 
ter lasts usually about seven months, during which time 
we have snowfalls about every four days, and sharp frosts. 
We can very rarely make snowballs, for the snow is frozen 
so hard as to become like dry powder. 

We have a great deal of skating and tobogganing here 
in winter. Our hills are made like tobogganing hills, 
only they are paved with ice, and the sleds are iron, with 
cushions. The sledges are very low, with curved-up 
fronts, behind which the driver is seated, thus protected 
from the flying snow. Sometimes private sledges have 
nets in front. The passengers sit back of the driver, all 
muffled up in furs, for it is not at all uncommon to have 
the thermometer register 5 degrees above zero. 
I remain your constant reader, 

Ernest C. R . 



The Lodge, Longford, Ireland. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little girl six years old. 
Mama buys you for us every month, and my brother, who 
is five, and I love you very, very much. We think the 
American books are much nicer than the English ones. 
Mama read us a letter from a little American girl, and I 
think little American girls and boys must be very clever. 
My big sister is helping me ; she rules the lines. This is 
the first long letter I have written, but I had to write to 
say how I love you. Your little friend, 

MiMi F . 



New York. 

Dear St. Nicholas : Last week mama gave me a 
surprise in bringing me home the first and second parts 
ofSr. Nicholas for 1891. 

I have read many nice and interesting books before, 
but I have to confess that the St. Nicholas takes the 
prize of them all. Two of the best stories I have read 
in it are " Toby Trafford " and " Lady Jane." I am very 
anxious to get the next number of St. Nicholas. 
Very truly yours, W. S . 



Elgin, Illinois. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I belong to a gymnasium and 
my cousin fell and broke her arm once, we have lots of 
fun playing ball down there. 

I go to Lake Geneva every summer. We have lots of 
fun going on picnics in the woods. And also bathing in 
the lake and rowing. My brother and 1 have a buycicle ; 
we have fun in riding it. 

We have three horses and two colts; the horses are 
" Tom," " Nellie," and " Captain Jinks." The latter is a 
race-horse. " Mora" is the older colt's name; it is one of 
the best colts in Ohio. The other colt is not named yet. 
" Nellie " is the name of its mother. Nellie is very gentle ; 
we ride her horseback and drive her all around town. 
Well, good-by. Your friend, Louise M. B . 



316 



THE LETTER-BOX. 



-1 T <- 



Chillicothe, Ohio. 

Dkar St. Nicholas: Here is a letter from one of 
your grown-up children, for I have several bound volumes 
of St. Nicholas, subscribed for for me as a child, and 
still often used both by myself and by my children — two 
boys, one nine and the other twelve years of age. 

After marriage I renewed my subscription because I 
missed you. When the Ijaloies came, first they enjoyed 
the pictures, then I read wliat they could understand and 
had tlie numbers bound. The source of endless enjoy- 
ment the magazines have been since the boys could read 
for themselves I cannot express. 

May you live always ! 

I will tell you of a clever trick I saw this summer; it 
may be interesting to your little readers. B . 



A BIRD STORY. 

A LITTLE robin was being taught to fly by its parents ; 
attemjiting too great a distance, it fell to the ground in the 
middle of the street on which I live. My little boy caught 
it ; I told him to bring it to me. Taking it up-stairs, I put 
it out on the roof of the front porch. " Now," said I, 
" we will sec if they will give another ' flying lesson ! ' " 
What do you think happened? After the old birds 
fluttered about awhile, they went off and I really feared 
had forgotten the young one. But not so. Here come 
three robins; they go ilirect to the roof. Two of them 
hold a piece of twine by the ends ; the nestling grasps 
the center and off they go, but as tiicy start we see why 
the third bird came, for it flies directly under the young 
bird, supporting it on its back. 

Don't you think they were smart birds ? 



Brooki.y.v, N. Y. 
Dear Sr. Nicholas: I went to Quebec last summer, 
and while I was there I went to St. .Anne's. It is twenty 
miles from Quebec. People wiio have been sick for 
years go there and are said to come out well and strong. 
< )ur landlady told mama that a friend of hers from the 
United States came to Quebec and went to .St. Anne's; 
she was so sick she had to be carried there ; when she 
came home she walked and was well. In front of the 
church are two ])illars reaching to the toj) of the church, 
and these are filled with crutches from big ones to babies' 
crutches. In going there I saw the falls of Muntmorenci, 
wiiich are higher th;in Niagara. In (^)uel)ec we went to 
the House of Parliament and heard the peojile talking 
French. It seems so strange that in a country that has 
been under English rule for one hundreil and thirty years 
that almost all the people speak French. Even the little 
children speak it too. ( iood-by. N'our loving little reader, 

Eleanor S. II . 



Naval .Vcadkmv, .Xnnai'oi.is, Md. 

Dear Si. .Nicholas: I am a little girl living at the 
United States Naval .\cademy, .\nna]iolis, Maryland. 

My father is a naval oflicer on duty here. We live in 
the grounds, and our house commands a fine view of the 
harbor and of Chesapeake Hay beyond. 

We girls have fine limes playing, and our favorite 
game is Hare and II<>und>. 

Every boy and girl shnuld know this game, for it is 
splendid. 

I enjov the foot-ball Wednesday and Saturday after- 
noons, when the cadets play against some out-of-town 
team. 

Dear St. Nicholas, I do enjoy you so much, and so 
do my two little sisters. I have read everything in your 
m.iga/ine for the last year. I like all your stories, but 



"Lady Jane," "The Fortunes of Toby TraRbrd," and 
" Chan Ok " are my favorites. 

I have not said anything about Annapolis, which is an 
'lid historic place, you know, but my letter is already 
long enough. Your devoted reader, 

K.atherine P . 



Philadelphia. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I hope you will publish this 
letter about the Tower of London, which I think was 
the most interesting thing I saw when I was aliroad this 
summer. I saw the room where the crown jewels are 
kept ; alscj the .\rinory, St. John's and St. Peter's chapels, 
Beauchamp tower, and the dungeons, through which we 
were taken by a very fat old beef-eater, who, after he had 
taken us through many dark an<l narrow passages, calmly 
remarked that " the people imprisoned there did not have 
a very pleasant time." Your devoted reader, 

Katharine P. II . 



La Porte, Ind. 

Dear Si . Nicholas : I am the youngest of three 
children who have taken you for three years. I read 
you, and like you very much. 

About three years ago I went to Colorado; I had a 
very nice time there, too. I climbed the mountains, and 
once mama and I were taking a nap in our room, and 
mama woke up and went down-stairs, and they all went 
to climb the mountains, and left only grandpa and me there 
alone. When I woke up I asked grandpa where the 
folks were; he said they were out climbing the mountains. 
I told him I was going too, and when I got half-way up 
I saw them 'way above me, so I tried to climb up the 
side of the mountain, but I could n't do it, so I com- 
menced to cry, and the folks thought it was some little 
boy or girl lost on the mountain back of them. .\t last 
they looked down and saw me there. They sent the boys 
home with me. Yours trulv, Laura S . 



Strawberry Hill, England. 

Dear Si. Nicholas : I have never written to you 
before. I live near to London. My little brother and I 
like the " Brownies " and " Little Lord Fauntleroy " best 
of all your stories. 

I am eleven years old, and I am the editress of a maga- 
zine called Tin- Gosliuk^. \\\ my cousins and friend> 
write for it. I am vours trulv. Acnes E. B 



New York (ii y. 

Dear Si. Nicholas: We .are twin sisters, aged fif- 
teen, and Lxst winter was s)ient in travels in Europe. 
We visitetl the most inieresting points in London, among 
which were the Tower. National (lallery, 'IVafalgnr 
Square, British Museum, Houses of Parliament, and St. 
Paul's Cathedral. While in London we both received 
presents of small gold lockets with " London '" engravetl 
upon them, also our names underneath, for mementos, 
as we were to gather such from every )>Iace of interest. 

In Paris we made the ascent of the EitTel Tower, early 
one morning. 

We then journeyed lo Switzerland, and high up among 
the .Mps, at a (|ueer little hut, we m.ide our abmle for 
the night. The next morning we started, on our don- 
keys, the guide leading us along the easiest places down 
the rocky path. The queer things in Berne amused us 
very much, .ind to remember thai place we collected 
small pictures of the wayside taverns and parks. 

Italy we enjoyed most of all. In Venice we spent most 
of the time in rowing and noticing the natural way in 
which the chiMren took to the water. For a remem- 



3i8 



THE LETTER-BOX. 



brance from Venice we got small miniatures of the gon- 
dolas, cut in coral. In Rome, the guide took us through 
many ruins of noted castles. The huge stones lay in 
crumbled masses, and we were allowed to pick up some, 
upon which we had our names and the date chiseled. 

On our way back we spent a week in Berlin, visiting 
the most important places. Wishing you prosperity, we 
remain, ASALITA AND VALERIE D . 



Milwaukee, Wis. 

Dear St. Nicholas : My brother took Our Yomig 
Folks until you were first issued, and I have taken you 
ever since. 

I attend the Milwaukee College, and enjoy it very much. 
I live up at the bank of Lake Michigan, in a red house. 
I can see the lake all day. I enjoy most watching the 
sun rise out of the lake. 

We have a lan;e, black horse, and he takes us for the 
most beautiful rides. I so wish you, dear St. Nicholas, 
miglit be witli us. 

My uncle, who was the minister to Japan some years 
ago, brought us many quaint and beautiful things, one 
of which is a black table with gold lacquer work on it. 

Faith Van V . 



New V'ork City. 

Dear St. Nicholas: Two years ago my mother, 
brother, and myself were in Europe and went to the 
Paris Exposition, which was very beautiful. 

My uncle, who was then in Paris, took me to see the 
tomb of Napoleon Bonaparte, and many other beautiful 
things. 

Summer before last I was in Washington ; I saw the 
Capitol, White House, the Treasury, and Navy Depart- 
ment, the Declaration of Independence, and the Sword 
of George Washington. I went up to the top of Wash- 
ington Monument, from which there was a lovely view. 
Your loving reader, Laura Y. G . 



Milwaukee, Wis. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am a httle girl of eleven years, 
and go to school at the Milwaukee College. 

I have two turtles, each the size of a fifty-cent piece, 
and they are very cunning. I have had them all sum- 



mer, and they are quite tame. They eat flies and bugs 
mostly. I keep them in a long tin bath-tub, with sand 
at the bottom and leaves at one end for them to sleep m. 
They are very pretty and intelligent. Wlienever I feed 
them, they stick their heads out of the water and open 
their mouths. Your constant reader, E. B . 



Chicago, III. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have taken you for one year. 
I like you very much. 

I am eight years old. I have been to Washington, 
Baltimore. Maryland, all over the battle-field of Gettys- 
burg and the cemetery in which the soldiers are buried. 
I like " Chan Ok : A Romance of the Eastern Seas," 
"Toby Trafford," and the "Tee-Wahn Folk-Stories." 
Your loving friend, Roger Rae R . 



Ramona, Cal. 
Dear St. Nicholas : We are twin brothers, P^reddie 
and Percy, and live on an orange-ranch, in California, 
near the home of " Ramona." We each have a bronco 
pony and a rifle, and ride many miles each day in search 
of coyotes. The Government gives us five dollars for 
each wolf's scalp. We each have six greyhounds, and 
are very successful in hunting rabbits. We will now 
give you a piece of poetry we composed, and if our let- 
ter is too long, please publish our poetry: 

Freddie and Percy are two gay Spanish boys. 
Who are exceedingly fond of tomales ; 

They have guns and toys and their sorrows and joys. 
And their father's name is Gonzales. 

Fred and Percy. 



We thank the young friends whose names follow for 
pleasant letters received from them: Marjorie H., 
"Pinkie," Leonie W. W., Anna St. J., Judith S. R., 
Marie V. P., W. H. H., Elsy, Clara J., Juha S. J., 
Katharine T. W., Irma K., M. H., Jean H. V., Rebecca 
W. B., Katharine E. F., Ida S., Edwin Vv'. J. 




ciRCUi^ 
MENAGERIE 





THE EVIl. EFFECTS OF A CIKCUS POSTEK. 



ANSWERS TO PLZZLKS IN 

Word Synxopatio.vs. Twelfth Night, i. Be-ate-n. 2. Br-own-ed. 
3. Al-leg-e. 4. St-all-age. 5. S-oft-ly. 6. Sho-ute-d. 7. Pari-she-s. 
8. S-end-ing. 9. Spin-et. 10. Man-age-s. 11. See-the-d. 12. Cur- 
ate-s. 

Doi'BLE Sqi'ares. I. 1. Jalap. 2. Agape. 3. Lares. 4. Apeak. 
5. Pesky. II. I Draft. 2. Kider. 3. Adieu. 4. Feels. 5. Trust. 

D.JLBLE Acrostic. Primal*, gonfalon ; finals, gonfanon. Cross- 
words: I. Gang. 2. Ohio. 3. Noon. 4. Fief ^. Anna. 6. Loon. 
7. Olio. 8. Nain. 

A Greek Cros^. I. i. Urban. 2. Rhino. 3. Bison. 4. Anode. 
5. Nones. II. i. Redan. 2. Erato. 3. Damon. 4. Atone. 5. 
Nones. III. i. Nones. 2. Ovolo. 3. Novel. 4. Eleve. 5. Soles. 
IV. I. Soles. 2. Ovate. 3. Lathe. 4. Ether. 5. Seers. V. 1. 
Soles. 2. Opera. 3. Lemon. 4. Erode. 5. Saner. 



THE J.ANUARV NU.MBER. 

Illi-.stratf.d DoiBLE ACROSTIC. Piimals, Stephen ; finals, De- 
catur. Crosswords : i. Squid. 2. Thisdc. 3. Epic 4. Pagoda. 
5. Helmet C. Emu. 7. Number. 

Pi. A flower unblown: a book unread; 

A tree with fruit unhar\ested ; 

A path untrod ; a hou.se who.se rooms 

Lack yet the heart's divine perfumes; 

A landscape whose wide border lies 

In silent shade 'neaih silent skies ; 

A wondrous fountain yet unsealed; 

A casket with its gifts concealed : — 

This is the year that for you waits 

Beyond to-morrow's mystic gates. 

HORATIO NEL50N POWERS. 

Novel Word-Square. Anna, noon, noun. Anna. 



To OfR Plzzlers: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and 
should be addressed to St. Nicholas " Riddle-box," care of The Centirv Co., 33 Elast Seventeenth St., New York City. 

Answers to all the Pizzles i.v the November Nimber were received, before November 15th, from Paul Reese — Maude E. 
Palmer— L. O. E. — " The McG.s"— Ida Carleton Thallon — A. H. R. .ind M. G. R.— " The Peterkins"— - Wee 3 "— Hubert L. 
Bingay — Alice .Mildred Blanke and sister — Gertrude Laverack — "The Wise Five" — "'Uncle Mung" — " Dad and Bill " — "Leather- 
stocking " — E. Kellogg Trowbridge — Jo and I — " The Spencers " — Helen C. McCleary — M. L. M. and C. E. M. — Josephine Sherwood 
— " Queen Anso IV." 

Answers to Plzzles in the Nove.mber Nc.mber were received, befure November 15th. from Henry Martin Rochester, i — Heler* 
H. Patten, 2 — Jennie D., i — Mabel Ganson, i — Minnie Walton, i — Mabel .Ames Wheeler, i — .Alice A'. Farquhar, 2 — Mary l.ce 
AVarren, i — Elizabeth A. .Adams, 1 — E. M. B., i— Elaine S., 2 — Lizzie W. A'.ilk, 1 — Grace Shirley, i — Vein, i — Olive Gale, i 

— Mama and Clara, i — Pauline Miller, i — F. L. .Andrews and H. G. Clarke, i — Eflie K. Talboys, 4 — Margaret Otis, i — Beth, i — 
Arthur Williams, 1 — Carrie G. M., i — " Oregon," 5 — Stephen O. Hawkins, 10— Isa Steams, i — Sl. S. Garver. i — G. A. H. and C. 
L. C 2 — Jessie M. King, i — " One of the A. S ." i — A. R. M. and .A. J , i — Russell Mount, 2 — .Anna St. J.ihn, 2 — Bessie Rhoads, 
3 — .Margie Bradrick, i — Louise and Peg, i — " May and '79," 2 — Nellie .Archer, 3 — " Chiddingstonc," 10 — Jessie Chapman, 8 — Ella J. 
Mendsen, 1 — Harry and Mama, 8 — "Ed. and Papa," — "We Uns," 5 — I'lara and Emma, 4 — Edith and Queen Frederick, 2 — Ida 
and Alice, 10 — Mama and Charlie, 2 — Mama and M.irion, 4 — .Agnes C. Leaycraft, i — Franz L., 5 — E. M. G., 10 — "Only I," i 

— Gwen and Brian, 10 — E. K.. i — " Santa Claus and A.," i — Blanche and Fred, 10 — "Puss," i — " Theos.," 3 — .Auntie and h'A. ■ — 
Alice M'Lcnnan, i — .Alice Goddard Waldo, 1. 



RHOMBOID. 



2. .\ kind of 
.\ short treatise. 



Across: I. A mea.sure of weight 
type. 3. To exercise for discipline. 4. 
5. Keenly desirous. 

Dow.nward: I. In rhomboid. 2. .Moft. 3. Clear 
of all charges and deductions. 4. Management. 5. To 
efface. 6. A feminine name. 7. .\ small horse. S. A 
pronoun. 9. In rhomboid. M. A. s. 

ST. A.\DKKWS CROSS OF DIAMOND.S. 



6. One half of the fruit of the 



sary. 5. .\ thin cake 
durio. 7. In slant. 

III. Ckntrai. I)l.\Mt>ND: I. In slant. 2. A slight 
moisture. 3. .\n ancient Celtic priest. 4. Not decided 
or pronounced. 5, Telegraphed. 6. .\ disresjjectful 
name for a parent. 7. In slant. 

IV. LowKR Left-hand Diamond: i. In slant. 
2. In what manner. 3. Damp. 4. Existing in name 
only. 5. Tempestuous. 6. .\ period of time. 7. In 
slant. 

V. LOWF.R RiGHT-HA.ND DiAMO.ND: 1. In slant. 
2. A gentle blow with the hand. 3. F"ixes the time of 
4. I'eriaining to the side. 5. .\ small fruit. 6. To 
speak, 7. In slant, M. .\. s. 



I. Upi'kk Lkki-ii.\M) 1>i.\mo.m>: I. Ill slant. 
2. To carve. 3. To make a short, sharp sound. 4. In- 
struction. 5. .Xttempted. 6. A capsule of a (ilaiit. 7, In 
slant. 

II. UlTKR RlcilT-lt.vNi) Di.vmonD: I. In slant. 
2. To unite with needle and thread. 3. Place. 4. Neces- 



ZIGZAG. 

.'\l 1. the words descril>ed contain the same number of 
letters. \Vhin rightly guessed, and placed one below 
another, the diagonal^, l>cginning at the u|>i>er left-hand 
letter and ending at the lower right-hand letter, will sjiell 
a name often given to Horatio Nelson. 

Cross-wok 1 >s : i. .\ row or rank.' 2. A Ituzzing 
sound. 3. To as>ist. 4. .A masculine name. 5. Kqua- 
ble. 6. The tleur-de-lis. 7. .\ musical instrument. S. 
To cheat. 9. To lift. 10. To stop. n. .V rcverbera- 
ti<in. 12. .A plant beloved !iy Welshmen, 13. .\ pro- 
tulierancc. 14. To scoff. 15. To baffle. 16. A cupola. 

n. 



.\n.\<;k.\>i. 

A DlsTi.NT.i isuKD .Xmerioin : 

MrSKS, All. .IKWEI> KUI.L. 



W. S. R. 



3«9 



320 



THE RIDDLE-BOX. 



HALF-SgUAKES. 

I. I. Idiocy. 2. Beginning. 3. To mature. 4. A 
kind of molding. 5. Wickedness. 6. Within. 7. In 
sprain. 

II. I. The shell of a nut. 2. Coalesced. 3. The 
protagonist in a play by Shakspere. 4. A minute 
particle. 5. "Children of a larger growth." 6. A 
masculine nickname. 7- I" sprain. 



ILLUSTRATED CENTRAL, ACROSTIC. 




All of the ten small pictures may be described by 
words of equal length. When these are rightly guessed, 
the central letters, reading downward, will spell the name 
of certain things which often come in February. 

C. B. 
DIAGONAL PUZZLE. 

Cross-words : i. To drain off completely. 2. Per- 
taining to an organ. 3. The yilace where King Arthur 
is supposed to have held his court. 4. Relating to the 
base. 5. Pertaining to a canon or rule. 6. A large 
artery in the neck. 7. A beautiful, wax-like flower. 

When rightly guessed and placed one below another, 
tlie diagonals, beginning at the upper left-hand corner, 
will spell the nftme of the heroine of an epic poem by 
Tasso. D. 

SEPARATED AVORDS. 

Example : Separate conferred, and make the first 
quality and indebted. Answer, best-owed. 

I. Separate the trachea, and make to twist and a boat- 
swain's whistle used to call the crew to their duties. 2. 
Separate a large fleet of armed ships, and make a branch 
and a feminine name. 3. Separate the aspect of two 
planets sixty degrees apart, and make gender and a name 
sometimes given to a man's stiff hat. 4. Separate great 



dislike, and make a cover for the head and a color. 5. 
Separate ignorant of letters or books, and make sick 
and to do a second time. 6. Separate the name of a 
distinguished philosopher, and make a small lizard and 
forward. 7. Separate a voracious eater, and make to 
cloy and a measure of weight or quantity. 8. Separate 
the stopper of a cannon, and make to drive in by frequent 
gentle strokes and the title of a tragedy by Thomas Noon 
Talfourd. 9. Separate to subvert, and make above and 
to place. 10. Separate a native of Normandy, and make 
a conjunction and a human being. 

When the above words are rightly guessed and placed 
one below the other, the initials of the first row of words 
will spell the name of a famous man born in 1732; the 
initials of the second row spell a quality for which he 
was distinguished. CYRIL deane. 

A HEXAGON. 



I. A RELIGIOUS book of the old Scandinavian tribes. 
2. A piece of mournful music. 3. Exhausts. 4 To 
disturb. 5- -^ substance of the nature of glass. 6. A 
variety of iron. 7. Certain measures of length. 

ELDRED JUNGERICH. 
WORD-.SQUARES. 

I. I. A PERCH. 2. Uncovered. 3. To grant to an- 
other for temporary use. 4. Closes. 

II. I. A stain. 2. To regard with affection. 3. A 
place for heating or drying. 4. A portable house of 
canvas. M. K. 

DOUBLE ACROSTIC. 

My primals spell the name of a celebrated conqueror ; 
my finals, the surname of the author of a very popular book. 
The primals and finals together spell the name of a hero. 

Cross-words (of equal length) : i. A tree. 2. A 
South American lizard. 3. The sweet-bay. 4. A legu- 
minous plant. 5. Yttrium. 6. Pertaining to the maple. 
7. A plant sacred to Venus. "XELIS." 



DOUBLK 


SQUARES 


* 


* * , 


^ 


* * . 


* 


jf * 



I. I. To ENVIRON. 2. To suppress. 3. Fascinating. 
4. Delightful regions. 5. Rigid. 

Included word-square: i. Part of the eye. 2. 
Wrath. 3. A retreat. 

II. I. A variety of fine clay containing iron. 2. 
Unspotted. 3. Courage. 4. Less common. 5. A 
vestibule. 

Included word-square : i. A meadow. 2. Part 
of the head. 3. A verb. 

III. I. A nautical term meaning " cease." 2. Small 
hairs on plants. 3. A foreigner. 4. A fall of hail and 
snow. 5- Hues. 

Included word-square: i. Evil. 2. To remain. 

■:;. Sediment. " CHARLES BEAKUORT." 



THE DE VINNE PRESS, NEW YORK. 



|#^;il]W'('iiT^ 




U Ji_Jl ■ 

TWO BOYS OF HOLLAND. 



ENGRAVED FOR ST. NICHOLAS EV T. JOHNSON FROM A I'AINTING BV CUYl', OWNED BY MR. C. T. BARNEY, NEW YORK. 



ST. NICHOLAS. 



Vol. XIX. MARCH, 1892. No. 



5- 



FROM SHIP TO SHORE. 



By John M. Ellicott, U. S. N. 



I REMEMBER Well, when I was living upon of treacherous shoals, and at places surging be- 
a broad arm of the Potomac River, what keen tween jagged reefs and huge boulders, 
delight I took in ])addling about in a litde With intense interest we reail of dreadful 
boat ; sometimes gliding up a narrow creek shipwrecks almost every week. The survivors 
shadowed by the overhanging boughs of a tell how the big ship labored and struggled 
gloomy pine forest ; sometimes deftly steering through monster billows and shrieking wind, 
into a favorite landing in the crotch of a dead under black flying clouds and amiil jagged 
and fallen tree ; sometimes lying i)eacefully be- streaks of lightning, until, mastless and helpless, 
side a mossy bank ; and sometimes sailing she lay exhausteil in the trough of the sea, and 
from i)oint to point with an old cedar-bush for passively received the cra.shing deluge of merci- 
a sail. No doubt hundreds of you who read less waves until she .sank. They tell how they, 
this magazine lake the same dcliglit in han- poor puny human beings, clung to helm and 
dling a little boat of your own on pretty lakes, pumps till the great ship's struggles were over 
or rivers, or bays. To you I say, first learn to and it became evident that she could carry them 
swim, then learn to handle vour boat in everv no lontrer ; then how thev hastilv threw a cask 
possible way. of water and a few provisions into some remain- 
Many of you have stood on the beach at the ing boat, and at a favorable moment launched 
seaside, and watched the seas rolling in heaxy upon the angry waters in a craft so frail that it 
breakers after a storm, curling and crashing seemed as if all on board were doomed to instant 
into volumes of foam and broken water, with destruction. 

such force as to send them sweeping up almost Here always conies the strangest part of their 

to your feet. It is through such waves that narrative. Read all such accounts carefully, 

men who follow the sea must at times pass in and you will find that in nearly every case 

reaching the shore ; but not through one or where such a little boat is safely launched from 

two on a smooth, (|uick-shelving beach, but an abandoned shij), it floats and drifts for days 

through thirty or forty, perhaps, covering a mile and even weeks on the open ocean, living 

Copyright, iSqj, by Tmb CENTfRV Co. All rights reser>-ed. 

3^3 



324 FROM SHIP TO SHORE. [Mar. 

through the dreadful tempest which wrecked are no tanks or lockers in which they can stow 

the big ship, sailing buoyantly through calmer these things, they throw them overboard ; for 

seas, and finally bringing the survivors within floating articles will follow them ashore, while if 

sight of other ships or land. the boat is upset a man does n't care to have 

This will not seem so strange to you after an overcoat wrapped about his face or legs, or 
you have been much upon the ocean. You a heavy boot to pound him on the head. If 
will then see how the big ship is so large and there are air-tanks or lockers in the boat, they 
long that the driving wind can almost turn her put in them all remaining food, besides in- 
over, and several Avaves can attack her at once, struments and unnecessary clothing, and make 
The wind will literally hold her down while the them as water-tight as possible. They put on 
great waves beat upon her. When a little boat life-preservers if they have them. They throw 
is launched, however, she is so small that only overboard all masts and sails, even the cask of 
one big wave attacks her at a time, and she water — only they make sure that the bung is in 
can ride over it like a cork. Its broken edge the latter. The helmsman ships an oar to steer 
sometimes pours into the boat, but with constant with instead of a rudder, if he has not already 
care and bailing she can be kept afloat. More- been using One. 

over, the very size of the waves shields the tiny Now that they are prepared to land, they next 

craft from the driving wind, save for the mo- must seek a place to land, and here their early 

ments when she is on their crests. training, although they may not be conscious of 

I have said that the little boat usually brings it, will first aid them. One stands up in the 
its occupants safely within sight of a ship or boat that he may see as far as possible. The 
land. If you are ever so cast away, choose that rowers skirt the breakers at a safe distance, 
you may sight a ship rather than land. Only seeking a place where there are fewest of them 
too often the fierce storm is weathered, and the between the boat and the shore, where the beach 
hopeful crew sail over hundreds of miles of seems steep and clean, where no treacherous 
sunny seas, almost as if on a pleasure-trip, until rocks protrude when the seas recede. All these 
the glad sight of land greets their eyes, and conditions may not exist in the same spot, 
their troubles seem but a dream of the past. Good judgment alone can determine the best 
when suddenly they are plunging through a place under varying conditions, 
mass of white and broken water, and amid the Selecting a landing-place, the men wait for 
roar of crashing waves the little boat is lifted an opportunity. By lying outside and watch- 
and twisted and flung about till dashed into ing the breakers, they find that after a certain 
fragments upon jagged rocks ; while those sur- number of heavy ones there is a quiet interval, 
vivors of terrible storm and shipwreck, of un- and after several counts they know when to 
counted miles of open ocean, are thrown upon expect this interval and take advantage of it. 
the sunny beach which gladdened their hearts. If there are but two or three lines of bad break- 
cruelly battered or perhaps even lifeless ! Al- ers near a seemingly steep beach, a bold dash, 
most always, too, this is due to their not know- bows on, during this interval of quiet, will prob- 
ing how to handle their boat at this crowning, ably land them high and dry. 
critical moment when but a few hundred yards Much more frequently, however, the water 
remain of a thousand-mile journey from ship to will shoal far out from the shore, and many 
shore. lines of breakers will have to be passed. The 

What, then, should be done at such a time ? quiet interval will be too short to allow a boat 

When the breakers are sighted, experienced to reach the shore. Only courage, coolness, 
boatmen lie at a safe distance outside of the quickness, and good judgment can save the men 
surf and make these simple preparations : They in the batde for life which must then be 
take off any loose or cumbersome clothing, such fought. They select a place where the break- 
as their coats, which might be washed up over ers seem to roll in parallel to the beach and 
their heads, or their boots or shoes, which would not slantingly, and then they row toward them 
fill with water and drag upon them. If there as close as they can with safety, and turn the 



.892.] 



FROM SHIP TO SHORE. 



325 




A SLKK-BOAT AT SEA. 



boat's bow out to sea. Next, they back in 
rapidly when the quiet time comes, but keep 
the boat's bow pointed squarely at the break- 
ers. The lull is too soon over, and the battle 
begins. A mountainous sea comes rolling in 
and mounting upward from a rounded crest 
to a thin green edge, which tumbles above 
them. Then the nearer side seems to pause, and 
from the green edge sweeps hissing backward 
a curling, feathery spray, as the farther side 
of the wave seems to rush over the nearer and 
descend with a 
crashing roar 
in overwhelm- 
ing volumes of 
whitened surf. 
If the little 
boat is caught 
in this deluge, 
she may be 
thrown end 
over end, or 
slued so far a- 
round that the 
next sea will 
roll her over 
and over; and 
even if skil- 
ful manage- 
ment should 
keep her head 
to sea she woultl soon be completely swam|)ed. 
These points where the seas break must then 
be eluded as often as pos.sible, but only ex- 



perience and judgment can tell how to pass them 
with more than occasional success. By pulling 
a few strokes toward the sea, a wave may pass 
under the boat just before it breaks. Then what 
a ride they have ! More swiftly than by express 
train thev are shot shoreward bv a miirhtv 
power utterly beyond control. The roar around 
them is frighttul, and the swirling, broken water 
terrif)ing, but while that speeding lasts they 
are safe. Every effort is always made to keep 
on the back of that shore-rushing wave. It 




AN I'PSKT IN THK Sl'KK. 



was an enemy a moment before, but now it 
is a guiding friend. The boatmen back in 
uj)()n it with all their might, but watching all 



326 



FROM SHIP TO SHORE. 



I Mar. 




RUSHING THE BOAT UP ON THE BEACH. 



the time, for tlie next wave to rise and form 
for attack. 

When the welcome shore is close at hand 
the helmsman presses down the loom or shaft 
of the steering-oar ; otherwise the blade would 
suddenly catch in the sand, the boat would rush 
over it, and as it pivoted in the oarlock the oar 
would fling the man far astern. Lucky would 
he be if there was still water to fall upon ! 

When the boat touches bottom, all hands 
spring overboard, and, seizing her gunwales, 
rush her high up on the beach ; otherwise the 
waves would do this for them, probably broad- 
side on, and in a very ruthless manner, perhaps 
breaking bones and crushing the boat, as if 
angry at the men's escape. 




BACKING IN THROUGH THE SURF, 



Should the worst catastrophe come, and the 
boat be overturned in the surf, the men do not 
try to swim back to her unless the distance from 



shore is still great, but seek to get away from th'e 
thrashing oars, which might stun them. They try 
rather to float than to swim, saving their strength 
for the moment when they first touch the sand. 
Then is the difficult time; to escape they must 
stagger shoreward against an outrushing torrent 
of sandy water, and even at best they will 
reach the land exhausted. Then, as soon as 
they are able, they rush as far out as their foot- 
hold is safe, and aid their companions who may 
be more exhausted than themselves. 

There are boats especially designed for 
launching and landing through surf They 
curve up very high at both ends, so as to ride 
over breakers easily and glide well up on a 
beach, and they are much broader than ordi- 
nary boats, to 
make it harder 
to upset them. 
In the bow and 
stern and along 
both sides under 
the thwarts they 
have air-tight 
tanks, so that 
they float light- 
ly even if filled 
with water. In 
the bow and stern tanks can be stowed instru- 
ments, bread, and such other things as must be 
kept dry. These boats are built unusually strong, 



1892] 



FROM Slllf TO SflOkh'. 



o-/ 



and can stand hard knocks. Every ship should 
have at least one surf-boat. The j)ictures show 
you just such a boat, built and used for land- 
ing through surf during a survey on the Pacific 
coast. In licr were made many dangerous 
landings. In spite of her gcr^d qualities there 



whenever they are upset, and they have false 
bottoms high up inside with little scuppers all 
around just on a level with the false bottom, 
so that all water will run out as soon as the 
boat rights herself But such boats are con.sid- 
ered too hea\y to carry aboard ship. 




l.Ll.\lUI.Sl. OVH.ii A bic UKtAKhK. 



were fre(iuent upsets, but the crew was well It is always interesting to watch a boatful 

trained and fearless, .so that there was never of men, conilucting a small boat in safety from 

loss of life. shi]) to shore. 

The boats at life-saving .stations have still Whenever you have to make a landing through 

other good (jualities. They have heavy lead the waves, whether from a lake or from the sea, 

keels which will turn them right side up again remember how it is done by sailors. 




FIRELIGHT. 



By Virginia Woodward Cloud. 



Dear Mother Dusk hath stolen in, 
And, close unto the chimney tall, 

Her wheel doth swiftly turn and spin, 
And straightway darker shadows fall. 

And straightway red the flame doth start. 
The hearthstone is alight once more ; 

While shifting phantom fires dart 
Athwart the ceiling and the floor. 

Outside, a giant wind in vain 

Hath striven for a welcome here, 

And now upon the Avindow-pane 

Soft, truant snowflakes whirl and peer. 

But let the giant madly blow ! 

What matter if he storms or grieves ? 
For, from the fiery embers' glow. 

Dear Mother Dusk a story weaves. 

Methinks it could not well be told, 

Because, in truth, 't is seen, not spoke; 



The princess, though, hath hair of gold. 
The ogre's beard is curhng smoke. 

And where his charred old castle stands. 
Beside the moat and drawbridge there. 

We see her wring her lily hands, 
We spy that lovely floating hair ! 

Fain would we to her rescue fly, 

When lo, the drawbridge down doth crash ! 

Princess and ogre buried lie 

Where starry sparks and flames upflash ! 

Dear Mother Dusk hath stopped her wheel, 
And all the hearthstone brighter gleams; 

Night hath crept in, and she doth steal 
To make a place for Jack o' Dreams. 

But Oh, the grim old ogre strong ! 

And Oh, the princess in the tower ! — 
Through echoes dim of slumber-song 

We feel that magic twilight hour. 





IT) Svmret Tql^D^Qp 



To the court of OUa, the Island of Ease, 

Two wise men came one day. 
On a geological journey bound, 
With hammer and chisel, the wide world 

round 
They were visiting isle and continent, 
And winning, wherever their steps they 

bent, 
By explanation and argument 
Their way. 




But Iktc, as soon as they went to work. 

In Olla, the Island of Kase. 
A personage, dignified, florid, and bland. 
C'amc hurriedly out to them, hat in hand. 
"The Monarch of Olla regrets," said he, 
" This manifestation of industry. 
Desires you will sto]) it imniediatelv, 
If you plea.se. 



" Objects to your chijjping the royal rocks. 
Dislikes scientific research, 

Hard facts, and harsh noises, and ham- 
mers and such. 

And does n't like gray-headed men very 
much, — 

In short, your departure, good sirs, I sug- 
gest ! '' 

And, bowing (his manners were (juite of 
the best), 




He left the two scholars, perplexed and 
di.stres.sed. 

In the lurch. 

"This Monarch of Olla. I hear."' said one, 
"Is only a chiUl, forsooth I 
Vet a .sovereign chilil is a sovereign still. 
And has, without doubi. i tyrannical will; 



339 



330 



THE MONARCH OF OLLA. 



IMak. 



And how to deal with the infant mind 
Is a difficult problem at best, I find, 
To the clearest logic so hopelessly blind 
Is youth." 




Then down they sat in the sand to mourn 

Their lost geological joys. 
Till a fisher-maid, with a bright black eye, 
Came strolling, listening, smiling by. 
" Good sirs," said she, " may I make so bold ? 
The Monarch of OUa is eight years old. 
And remarkably fond, I 've often been 
told, 

Of toys ! " 



They started, they smiled, they stroked their 

chins, 

With a dignified, deep delight; 
They telegraphed straight to the nearest 

town, 
Where dwelt a toyman of much renown, 
And ordered from him in the greatest haste 
A whip with a handle silver-chased, 
A ball with the costliest broidery traced. 
And a kite 

Of wonderful beauty and monstrous size. 

Embossed in rich design; 
A banjo of gold with a tuneful twang, 
And a golden gun with a patent " bang " ; 
A bicycle (safety) and trumpets and 

drums 
(The noisiest each of its kind that comes), 
And a number of tops with a number of 

hums 

Very fine ; 

A train of cars that would run all day 

At a genuine railway rate ; 
An army of men in a golden box, 
And a trunkful of golden building-blocks; — 
In short, they ordered each possible toy 
That is dear to the heart of the every-day 

boy. 
Yet costly enough for a king to enjoy 
In his state. 




r«92l 



Tin: .M().\AK( II OF OI.I.A. 



-> -> T 



Then, bowing and breathless, they stood 

without 

In an anteroom neat as a pin, 
While the messenger boys in an orderly 

corps 



That hid the laughter that lurked in her 
eyes. 
" Nay, now," she cried, " what a heart of 
stone 
This ruler of eight years old must own ! 



Went in with their gifts at the nursery Vet, hark you, sirs, you may still atone 



door. 
Five minutes they waited (it seemed a 

week). 
Then rose on the silence an uproar unicjue — 



For your blunder. 

" A gift of my choosing (at your expense) 
Will settle the matter with ease. 




A tempest of weeping and shriek upon 
shriek 

From within. 

And out at the door tame the unluckv 

toys 

In a shower that darkened the air; 
And out from the jialace in dire dismav 
The wise men lied by the shortest way. 
Nor paused until they had reached the 

shore, 
Where, all in a heap on the sandy floor. 
The fisher-maid fountl them as once 

before, 

In despair I 

She heard their tale with a brow demure. 

.\t first with a glance of womler. 
And then with a frown of grave surprise 



And win \t)u, I 11 warrant, the royal grace, 

And the consequent love of the i)opuIace. 

So cheer you, sirs, it is not too late ; 

For a moderate sum \ou may mend your 
fate. 

Five dollars will do it. or four ninety- 
eight, 

I f you please ! " 

* 

They .sighed and they doubted, but ilrew 

her a check 

Quite double her modest demand ; 
Anil a day or two afterwanl .stood once 

more 
In the anteroom, at the nursery door, 
While the fisher-maid, with a face of joy. 
Sent in on his errand one messenger boy 
W ith a single box and a single toy 
In his hand. 



1 T o 



THE MONARCH OF OLLA. 



Then lo ! there was laughter and clapping 

of hands, 

And a rustle of delicate frocks ; 
And then from the monarch's mysterious 

room 
No warning there came of immediate 

doom, 
But a gracious message of compliment, 
And the Monarch of OUa's free consent 
To chip away to their hearts' content 
At the rocks. 



The wise men looked at the fisher-maid; 
She laughed with her lip a-curl. 
• Next time," she cried, " before you begin, 
'T were well to consider whose grace you 

would win. 
Sooth, wisdom and folly are like as two peas ! 
That box, learned sirs, held a doll, if you 

please. 
For the Monarch of 011a, the Island of 
Ease, 

Is a girl/" 



Oh.<z^ C5c<2'niotl C^x*imc^LKir2, 







TOM PAULDING. 

{.4 Tale of Treasure Troz'e in the Streets of New York.) 



By Brander Matthews. 




[Begun in the Noz>embcr tiumbcr.\ 

Chapter IX. 

UNCLE DICK. 

HEN Tom fol- 
lowed Pauline 
into the parlor 
he found his 
uncle seated 
on the sofa 
beside their 
mother. The 
first sight of 
his uncle gave 
Tom the im- 
pression of strength and heartiness, which was 
confirmed as they came to know each other 
well. Uncle Dick was neither tall nor stout, 
but his figure was well built and solid ; perhaps 
he was rather under than over the average 
height of man. His eyes were dark, and so 
was his hair, save where it was touched with 
gray at the temples. His hands, which were 
resting on his knees, seemed a little large; and 
the distinct sinews of the wrists indicated un- 
usual strength of grip. His face was clean 
shaven, except for the mustache which curled 
heavily down each cheek. 

His smile was kindly as his eyes looked Tom 
straight in the face, and his greeting was hearty. 
" So this is Tom, is it ? " he said, holding out 
his hand and giving Tom a cordial clasp. 

" And you arc Uncle Dick," Tom responded, 
echoing his uncle's pleasant laugh. 

" ^'es. I am l^ncle Dick. I 'm M)ur mother's 
only l)r()thcr, and you are her only son. Let 
me get a good look at you." 

So saying, he raiseil his hands anil grasped 
Tom by the shoulders and held the boy oft" at 
arm's-length, while he took stock of him. 
After a long searching ga/.e, which 'I'oni met 



unflinchingly, Uncle Dick said to Mrs. Paul- 
ding, " He has your eyes, Mary, and your 
hair, — but how like he is to his father!" 

Despite his bold front, Tom had endured the 
close scrutiny with secret discomfort ; but now 
he flushed with pleasure. Mrs. Paulding had 
often talked to her son about the father he 
could scarcely remember, and it was Tom's 
chief wish to grow as like his father as he could. 

" Yes," repeated Uncle Dick, '• he is very like 
Stuyvesant." Then he released his hold on 
Tom's shoulders. " I do not see, Mary," he 
said, turning to Mrs. Paulding, '• that you have 
any reason to be dissatisfied with these young- 
sters. They look like healthy young Americans 
with clear consciences and good appetites. If 
they take to me as I have taken to them, we 
shall get along all right." 

" I 'm sure we shall all be ever so fond of 
you, if you '11 only stay here," said Pauline; 
"in fact, I 'm fond of you now." 

"You sec, your sister and I," explained Un- 
cle Dick to Tom, " have already made friends. 
She has shown me round her cat-ranch outside 
there, and — " 

" And what do you think ? " interrujited Pau- 
line. " ' Mousie ' approved of Uncle Dick at 
once, and went up and let him stroke his neck 
— and you know Mousie is very hard to please." 

" Then I can look upon Mousie's api)roval 
of me as a certificate of good moral character," 
said Uncle Dick, with a ringing laugh. "Antl 
I don't know but what I "d rather have a letter 
of recommen<lation from a tlumb beast than 
from many a man I 've mot. .\s a judge of 
human nature, ' the biped without feathers,' as 
Plato calleil him. is .sometimes inferior to our 
four-footed friends." 

" I 'm glad to be told 1 'm like my father." 
Tom remarked as he sat down by his mother's 
side. 



533 



1 1 A 

v3vD4 



TOM PAULDING. 



[Mar. 



" You are like him, as I 've said," responded 
his uncle, " and diat 's a reason you and 1 
should be good friends, — for no man ever had 
a better friend than your father was to me. 
When we were boys of your age we played to- 
gether on these grounds; and we went off on 
long walks together up to High Bridge and 
across the Harlem River. This is a fine place 
for a boy — at least we found it so. There are 



" There 's one thing to tell," replied Uncle 
Dick; '-it 's a great deal more fun to play at 
Indians here on Manhattan Island than it is to 
have the real redskins come whooping after 
your scalp." 

" They did n't get yours, did they ? " asked 
Pauline. 

" They did n't that time — but it was a very 
tight squeak," Uncle Dick answered. 




PAULINE AND UNCLE DICK INSPECTING THE " CAT-RANCH." 



lots of good spots for sham fights and so forth. 
Down in the woods by the river, near the rail- 
road track, we used to go on long scouting- 
raids after the Indians. But I suppose that is 
altogether too old-fashioned a sport for you 
boys nowadays." 

Tom promptly informed his uncle all about 
the Black Band, and about the bonfire on elec- 
tion night, when he had to run the gantlet 
and had afterward been burnt at the stake. 

" Mother has told us about your adventure 
with the Indians in the Black Hills," Tom said ; 
" that is, she 's told us all you wrote, but there 
must be lots more to tell — is n't there ? " 



" You '11 tell us about a// your adventures, 
won't you ? " Pauline besought. 

Uncle Dick laughed heartily. " I 've been 
about a good deal, here and there, but I don't 
know that I 've really had any adventures that 
you could call adventures," he said. 

" But you ran away to sea ? " Polly cried. 

" Oh, yes," he answered. 

"And you were wrecked?" she continued. 

" Yes," assented her uncle. 

" And you went to the war, and you were 
taken prisoner ? " she went on. 

" Yes." 

" And vou 've fought the horrid Indians, and 



1892. 



TOM PAULDING. 



-> "< r 



you 've been to Africa for diamonds, and you 've 
done lots and lots of other things like that, — 
and if those are not adventures, I 'd just like to 
know what are ? " she urged. 



'■ I did n't get past them," was the answer. 
" But they did n't hV/ you : " Polly cried. 
•• They got ready to do it," Uncle Dick ex- 
l)lained, " when an old sheik interfered. He 



" Some of these things were rather exciting was a great friend of mine, that old sheik, and 



while they lasted," said Uncle Dick calmly, 
" but I don't think I should call any of them 
adventures." 

" What would you call an adventure, then ? " 
asked Pauline. 

" Oh, I don't know," he replied. " Perhaps 
it is an adventure to have been shut up in the 
Rock Temple at Petra, alone with your deadly 
enemy, when he had a revolver and you had 
nothing but a penknife, and when you believed 
that if you got out alive the natives outside 
would promptly kill you." 

" Did that haj)pen to you ? " asked Tom w ith 
intense interest. 



I had done him a favor once; and so he saved 
my life and got me away to the coast. Of 
course you ought to do people Aivors when- 
ever you can ; and the very lea.st reason is that 
you never know when their gratitude may come 
in handy." 

'■ How did you happen to be in the Rock 
Temple ? " asked Tom, '■ and with your enemy, 
too ? " 

" How did I happen to get into all my 
scrapes ? " returned Uncle Dick. '• For a sim- 
ple reason. Because I did not follow the ad- 
vice of the Turkish proverb which says. ' Before 
you go in, find a way out.' All my life I 've 



" Well, it wasn't exactly that way," responded been going into all sorts of things — and gener- 



his uncle. " You see he had only a single-bar- 
reled pistol and I had a bowie-knife, so it was 
almost an even thing." 

" Did you fight him ? " Polly inquired. 

" I had to." 

"And how did it end?'" Poll}- asked eagerly. 
" Did he kill you ? " 

Uncle Dick laughed again and responded, 
" Do I look like a ghost ? " 

Polly blushed and explained hastily, " I mean, 
did you kill him ? " 

" No," her uncle said. '■ I did n't kill him and 
he did n't kill me. He fired at me and missed 
my head by half an inch — 1 believe he did cut. 
oft" a stray lock of hair — you see 1 have curls 
like yours, Tom." 

" And what did you do then ? " was Polly's 
instant query. 

" He sprang on me and I defended niysell", 
and he got a wound — " 

" A .serious wound ? " asked Polly. 

" I ne\ er yet saw a wound that was comic," 
Uncle Dick rejjlied. "either for the man who 
had it, or the man who gave it. lighting is a 
sad business, at best, and I keep out of it when 
1 can. As good luck would have it, this man's 
wound was not dangerous ; but it left me free 
to make my escape." 

" But how did you get ])ast the natives out- 
side, who were waiting to kill vou ? " asked Tom. 



ally I 've had to squeeze out of the little end 
of the horn. As the old colonel of my regi- 
ment used to say, 'I 've had lots of luck in my 
life — good and bad.' " 

" It is good luck which has brought you back 
to me, Dick," said Mrs. Paulding. '-And the 
longer you stay the better I shall like it." 

" I don't know how long it will be. Mar)," 
he answered; " that all depends on what Joshua 
Hoftmann says on Montlay morning." 

••Joshua Hoftmann?" Tom repeated; "is n't 
he the gentleman who owns that graml new 
house on the River.si<le ilrive, with the broad 
piazzas, and the tower, and the ground arounil 
it with a brick wall ? " 

"Yes," Mrs. Paulding replied. "Mr. Hoft"- 
mann has built a new house near us since you 
were here last. Dick." 

'" Everything arouiul this place seems new 
since I was here last," Dick returned. " But 
even if Joshua Hoftmann has a house near us, 
I sha'n'l intrude on hin: up here — at least 
not at first. 1 'II talk business down-town at 
his otVu-e." 

"He 's sure to l)e glad to see you. Dick." 
saiil Mrs. Paulding. '• Children, you know that 
your uncle saved Mr. Hoflmann's life?" 

" I did n't know it at all." Tom replied. 

" Neither did I," Incle Dick declared. 

"Tell us oil about it at once, please," Polly 



zz^ 



TOM PAULDING. 



[Mar. 



besought. " I like to hear about people's lives 
being saved." 

" It 's very little to tell," her uncle responded; 
" all I did was to give him warning of a plot 
against him. It was when he was out in the 
China Seas, aboard his private steam-yacht, the 
' Rhadamanthus.' He had a crew of Lascars, 
and was going down the coast. From a China- 
man I had once recommended I received warn- 
ing not to go — he 'd offered me a berth on 
the yacht — because the Chinese pirates had 
bribed half the crew, and they meant to attack 
Mr. Hoffmann in a pirate junk which would 
come alongside under pretense of being in 
need of water. Of course I warned Mr. Hoff- 
mann, and I accepted the berth on the yacht, 
and Ave made ready for a good fight. We ran 
out of port, dropped alongside an American 
man-of-war, sent back the treacherous crew, and 
took on board a lot of new men we could 
trust." 

"And did the pirate junk attack you ? " Tom 
asked eagerly. 

" It did," Uncle Dick answered. " And 
when they made their sudden assault and found 
us ready for them with a couple of Gatling guns 
on the main deck, you never saw pirates so 
surprised in all your life." 

" I did n't know that Chinamen were ever 
pirates," said Polly ; " I thought they all either 
made tea or took in washing." 

" How did the fight end ? " was Tom's im- 
patient question. 

" The junk was sunk, and the crew were sent 
back as prisoners ; and I suppose that in time 
they were tried and sentenced." 

At this juncture in the conversation, the Care- 
ful Katie entered to announce that supper was 
ready. Tom rushed up-stairs to wash and to 
brush his hair. 

When he came down, he found his mother 
and Uncle Dick discussing Mr. Joshua Hoff- 
mann, who was at once one of the richest and 
one of the best men in New York; a man good 
himself and never tired of doing good to others; 
a man full of public spirit and leading in nota- 
ble public enterprises ; a man who considered 
his great fortune as a trust for the benefit of 
those who had been less fortunate. 

" He 's a man riches have not spoiled," re- 



marked Uncle Dick ; " and that 's saying a 
great deal for anybody." 

" He 's a man that 's good to the poor," in- 
terjected the Careful Katie. " Heaven bless 
him!" 

For a second Uncle Dick looked a little sur- 
prised at this intrusion of the waitress into the 
conversation. Then he laughed softly to him- 
self; and he said to his sister, as the Careful 
Katie left the dining-room to get the hot bis- 
cuits, " I see that she is quite as talkative as 
ever." 

Mrs. Paulding smiled and answered, " She 's 
a faithful creature, and I am used to her oc- 
casional loquacity." 

" I like it," Uncle Dick responded ; " I like 
anybody out of the common, — anybody or any- 
thing that has a character of its own. I have 
no use for a man who has had all his edges and 
corners smoothed off till he is just as round and 
as commonplace as his neighbors." 

The Careful Katie returned and placed on the 
table a plateful of smoking hot biscuits. As 
she did this she dislodged a knife, which fell to 
the floor. 

" That 's a gentleman 's coming to the 
house," she said promptly. " Sure if I 'd done 
it yesterday, I 'd 'a' said it meant you comin' 
back to us to-day, Mr. Richard." 

" So if you drop a knife it means a gentleman 
is coming to the house, does it ? " asked Uncle 
Dick with immediate interest. He had studied 
the folk-lore and strange beliefs of savage peo- 
ples in all parts of the world; and to find a 
superstition quite as absurd in the chief city of 
the United States, in the last quarter of the 
nineteenth century, was a surprise. 

" What else should it mane ? " answered 
Katie. 

" And if you drop a fork," Uncle Dick con- 
tinued, " I suppose that means a lady is coming ? " 

" An' how could it mane anything else ?" she 
asked in answer. " I do be wondering who it 
is that knife '11 bring us here to-night." 

And with that she left the room. 

" Mary," said Uncle Dick as the door closed 
behind the Careful Katie, " you were remark- 
ing that this house was old-fashioned and had 
no modern conveniences — no dumb-waiter, for 
example. It seems to me that it lias something 



1892.] 



TOM 



more useful than a dumb waiter, — 
it has a talking waitress." 

Mrs. Paulding laughed. ■' Katie 
will talk a little too much," she said, 
"but we don't mind it." 

'•iMinil it! " repeated Uncle Dick. 




00/ 



fearing that in their absence he might 
tell of some new and strange adventure 
by land or sea. The ne.xt day was 
Sunday ; and before they went to bed 
again they had learned more of their uncle's 
It is de- varied career. But it would have taken many 
lightful. I enjoy it. I have often heard of a a " month of Sundays," as the Careful Katie 

certain person's being a phrased it, for them to have been told a tithe 
brilliant conversationalist of the extraordinary adventures 
— and I never knew ex- in which he had taken part. 




-S 



ful Katie is 
versation- 

" She 's f 
pussies," said \« 
as if Uncle 



actly what that meant. 
But now I know. 
Why, the Care- 
a brilliant con- 
alist." 




Just turned two score years 
at the time he went back to 
his sister's house in New York, 
Richard Rapallo had not spent 
more than twelve weeks in any one place since 




very good to the he was thirteen. A little before the Rebellion 



Polly, ^ 
Dick 



were attacking the Careful Katie. 

" I 've no doubt she is good in 
every way," responded Uncle Dick. 

" She 's a good 





had broken out, 

in February, 

1 86 1, when he 

wase.xacdvthir- 

teen years old, 

he had run away to sea. ■caa^er^.r^ 
talker, and that is a good He made a voyage in a whaler 
thing. Conversation is her as cabin-boy ; and when they had gathered a fair 
hobby — and we must harvest of oil and bone in the Northern Pacific, 
never look a friend's hobby and had come homeward around the Horn, and 
in the mouth." were at last almost in sight of port, a terrific 




In chat like this the evening sped away 



storm caught them and blew them far out of 




s^ 



I'NCl.K PICK TKI.I.S TOM AND rnl.l.Y Ml!. ADVFNTl'RBS. 

Pauline first and then Tom went to bed re- their course, and finallv wrecketl them on Sable 
luctantly, unwilling to leave their uncle, and Island, that well-filled graveyard of good ship.s. 
Vol.. XIX.— 22. 



138 



TOM PAULDING. 



[Mar. 



When at last Richard Rapallo was taken off 
in an American vessel, he again met with mis- 
fortune, for the ship was captured by the Con- 
federate cruiser " Alabama," then just starting 
from England on her career of destruction. 
The American crew saw their ship burnt before 
their eyes. They were sent off in a little fishing- 
smack to make their way home as best they 
could. 

Richard Rapallo was only fifteen when he 
returned to New York and went back to school. 
He was barely seventeen when he enlisted in 
the army, then about to make its final eftbrt to 
crush the Confederate forces and to capture 
Richmond. It was in January, 1865, that he 
enhsted ; and in February his regiment had its 
first skirmish. Taken by surprise, two compa- 
nies were surrounded and forced to surrender. 
Richard had scarcely seen any fighting, he had 
hardly heard a shot fired, but he was taken 
prisoner like the rest; and a prisoner he 
remained until the war was over. 

Since the surrender of Lee there was hardly 
anything that Richard Rapallo had not done; 
and there was hardly anywhere that he had not 
been. The restlessness which had led him to 
run away as a school-boy had grown with the 
years and with the lack of restraint, until it was 
quite impossible for him to settle down in any 
one spot for long. 

Young as he was then, only nineteen, he had 
had charge of an important exhibit at the Paris 
Exposition of 1867. There he formed friend- 
ships which led him to Algiers and thence to 
Syria and to Egypt. After long wanderings in 
the Dark Continent he came back to New York 
again ; and he was present at his sister's mar- 
riage to his old friend and school-fellow, Stuy- 
vesant Paulding. 

Then again he started out, to the West this 
time, as if he had had his fill of the East. He 
had a ranch for a while; and he was in the 
legislature of Nevada for a term ; and he was 
one of the first men to enter the Black Hills. 

He became interested in a jxitent for hy- 
draulic mining, and it was to introduce this tliat 
he left America for Australia. Here he traveled 
far into the interior ; and he was gone so long 
with a party of friends that it was feared they 
had all been lost in the bush. 



From Australia he had gone up to China and 
Japan, and then down again to Calcutta and 
Bombay, forming one of a party which ascended 
some of the loftiest peaks of the Himalayas. 
On his way to EurojDC he was invited to join 
an exploring expedition to the antarctic regions ; 
and when the explorations were concluded, it 
was by one of the ships of this expedition that 
he was taken to Cape Colony. In time he wan- 
dered north to the diamond-mines, and there he 
had remained nearly a year. 

In all his voyages and his journeyings, in the 
haps and mishaps of his varied career, he had 
sharpened his shrewdness, mellowed his humor, 
and broadened his sympathies. There could 
be no more congenial companion for a healthy 
and intelligent and inquiring boy like Tom 
Paulding; and, long before Sunday night, uncle 
and nephew were on the best of terms. 

" I Ve been ' Jack of all trades,' " said the 
man to the boy ; " I hope you will be master of 
one. Make your choice early and stick to it, 
and don't waste your life as I have wasted 
mine." 

Tom wondered whether this could mean that 
Uncle Dick was not as rich as he and Polly 
supposed that an uncle ought to be — espe- 
cially an uncle just back from the diamond- 
fields. 

He was a little reassured on Sunday even- 
ing when Uncle Dick brought out a large tar- 
nished pebble, and told them that it was a 
diamond. 

Tom felt that only a rich man could afford to 
keep diamonds looking as shabby as that. 

As to whether he wished his uncle to be rich 
or not, Tom could not quite determine off- 
hand. He himself would prefer to find the 
guineas stolen by Jeffrey Kerr, and with them 
to pay off the mortgage and make sure his 
own future and his sister's. But if he did not 
find the guineas, — and he confessed that he 
had made no great progress as yet, — then, of 
course, it would be very convenient indeed to 
have in the house a wealthy and generous 
uncle. 

Tom went to bed on Sunday night trying to 
make up his mind whether his uncle was rich, 
and whether he wanted his uncle to be rich. 

Almost the last thing that he heard his uncle 



1892.] 



TOM PAULDIXG. 



339 



say, as he went uj) to bed that night, made him when she came to kiss her mother good-by, 

suspect that perhaps a man might come back before going to school, she could not resist the 

from the diamond-fields of South Africa with- temptation of the opportunity. She said : 

out being enormously wealthy. " Marmee, can I ask you a question ? " 

What Uncle Dick had said was this: " I 've " Certainly, Polly dear," was the answer, 

gone abroad on many a cruise, and I 've been '' It 's about Uncle Dick," Pauline went on 

in many a port, — but my ship has never come shyly. 

home yet." Then Uncle Dick laughed lightly " Well ? " 

and added, '• Perhaps she is now refitting for "Well, is he very rich?" she asked at last, 

the voyage — at my castle in Spain." Mrs. Paulding looked down at her little 

Tom knew that a castle in Spain was the sole daughter and said, " Why do you a.sk that?" 

residence of the absolutely homeless, and he " Because Tom and I thought that if Uncle 

thought that this speech meant that his uncle Dick had been picking up diamonds — I won- 

Dick's having was less than his hope. der if they do it in Africa with raw meat and 

a big bird as they did in 'Sindbad' — if he 'd 

On Monday morning, as Tom went off to been finding diamonds, why, of course he was 

school. Uncle Dick started with him, saying, very rich, and he 'd pay the mortgage and make 

" I 've two or three things to attend to down- you more comfortable and we 'd all be happier." 

town before I go to see Joshua Hofthiann, and " Your Uncle Dick," Mrs. Paulding said, 

I suppose I 'd better start early." smoothing her daughter's hair, " is not rich. 

" I can show the way to the elevated rail- He has very little money, and he has gone 

road station," Tom suggested, as they went now to see Mr. Hofimann hoping he can get 

down the little tlight of steps to the street. a situation of some sort here in New York." 

" I don't want any elevated railroad station," " Oh ! " said Pauline, '' then he is poor ? " 

replied his uncle. " 1 'm going to walk. ' Shanks's " Yes," her mother answered. '• He is not in 

mare ' is my steed : it does n't take money to need, of course ; but he has little or no money." 

make that mare go — but on the other hand " I must tell Tom as soon as I can," Pauline 

it 's true that mare does n't go very far." remarked gravely; " and now he has just ^''t;/ to 

Pauline was a little late that morning, and find that stolen money at once." 

( To be continued. ) 







TEE-WAHN FOLK-STORIES. 



THL- 

AM 

WHO 




By Charles F. Lummis. 




MONO the principal years ago) Isleta stood where it stands to-day 
heroes of the Tee-Wahn — on a lava ridge that defies the gnawing cur- 
folk-lore, I hear of none rent of the Rio Grande. In those far days, 
more frequently, in the Nah-chu-rii-chu dwelt in Isleta, and was a 
winter story-tellings to leader of his people. A weaver by trade,* his 
which my aboriginal rude loom hung from the dark rafters of his 

room ; and in it he wove the strong black man- 
ias or robes like those which are the dress of 
Pueblo women to this day. 

Besides being very wise in medicine, Nah- 
means " The Bluish chu-ru-chu was young, and tall, and strong, and 
Light of Dawn," is deeply revered by the quaint handsome ; and all the girls of the village 
people who claim him as one of their forefathers, thought it a shame that he did not care to take 
He had no parents, for he was created by the a wife. For him the shyest dimples played, for 
Trues themselves, and from them received such him the whitest teeth flashed out, as the owners 
extraordinarypowersaswere second only to their passed him in the plaza; but he had no eyes 
own. His wonderful feats and startUng adventures for them. Then, in the custom of the Tee- 
— as still related by the believing Indians — wahn, bashful fingers worked wondrous fringed 



neighbors admit me, 
than the mighty Nah- 
chu-ru-chu. To this 
day his name, which 



would fill a volume. One of these fanciful 
myths has pleased me particularly, not only for 
its important bearing on the history of the race, 
but for its interesting story as well. It is a 
characteristic legend of the Southwest. 



shirts of buckskin, or gay awl-sheaths, which 
found their way to his house by unknown 
messengers. 

But Nah-chu-ru-chu paid no more attention 
to the gifts than to the smiles, and just kept weav- 



Long before the first Spaniards came to New ing and weaving — such manias as were never 
Mexico (and that was three hundred and fifty seen in the land of the Tee-wahn before or since. 
*An ancient custom. Manta-weaving by men remains now only among the distant Moquis. 



I 



340 



TEE-WAHN FOI.K-STORIKS. 



341 



Two of his admirers were sisters who were ransack the corn-bins for the biggest, evenest, 

called, in Tee-wahn language, Ee-eh-choo-ri- and most perfect ears. Shelling the choicest, 

ch'ahm-nin — the Yellow-Com-Maidens. They each took her few handfuls of kernels to the 

were both young and pretty, but they "had the sloping ///rA//<r,* and with the w^/w, or hand-stone, 

evil road," or were witches, possessed of a magic scrubbed the blue grist up and down and up 

power which they always used for ill. When all and down till the hard com was a .soft blue 

the other girls gave up, discouraged at Xah-chu- meal. All the next day, and the next, and the 

rii-chu's indifterence, the Yellow-Com-Maidens next, they ground it over and over again, until 

kept coming day after day, trying to win his it grew finer than ever flour was before ; and 

notice. At last the matter became so annoying every girl felt sure that her meal would stick to 

to Nah-chu-ru-chu that he hired the deep- the(?w<7/<f of the hand- 



some young weaver. 
The Yellow-Com- 
Maidens worked 
hardest of all ; day 
and night for four 
days they ground 
and ground, with all 



voiced town-crier to go through all the streets 
and announce that in four days Nah-chu-ru- 
chu would choose a wife. 

For dippers, to take water from the big 
earthen jars, the Tee-wahn used then, as they 
use to-day, queer little omates made of a 
gourd ; but Nah-chu-rii-chu, being a great 
medicine-man and very rich, had a dipper of the magic spells they 
pure pearl, shaped like the gourds, but wonder- knew, 
fully precious. Now, in those far- 

" On the fourth day," proclaimed the crier, off days the Moon 
" Nah-chu-rii-chu will hang his pearl ornate at had not gone up into 
his door, where every girl who will may throw the sky to live, but 
a handful of corn-meal at it. And she whose 
meal is so well ground that it sticks to the ornate, 
she shall be the wife of Nah-chu-ru-chu ! " 

When this strange news came rolling down 
the still evening air, there was a great scamper- 
ing of little moccasined feet. The girls ran out 



was a maiden of 
Shee - ah - whib - bak 
( Isleta). And a very 
beautiful girl she was, 
but blind of one eye. 





THE MtKlN-MAIDEN. 



She had long admired 
Nah-chu-ru- 
chu, but was 
always too 
maidenly to 
try to attract 

his attention as other girls had done ; 
and at the time when the crier made his 
proclamation, she happened to be away 
at her father's ranch. It was only ujion 
the fourth day that she returned to town, 
and in a few moments the girls were to 
go with their meal to test it upon the 
magic dipper. The twn Vcllow-Corn- 
Maidens were just coming from their 
house as she passed, and told her of what 
was to be ilone. They were very con- 
from hundreds of gray adobe houses to catch fident of success, and toKl the Moon-girl, hoping 
every word ; and when the crier had passed on, to pain her. They laughed derisively as she went 
they ran back into the store-rooms and began to running to her home. 

' The slab of l.iva which still serves as a hand-tnill in Pueblo houses. 



TIIK ISUKTA (ilKLS GRINDING COHN WITH THE 

" MKTATK." 



342 



TEE-WAHN FOr.K-STORIES. 



[Mar. 



By this time a long file of girls was coming to 
Nah-chu-ru-chu's house, outside whose door 
hung the pearl oviate. Each girl carried in her 
hand a little jar of meal; and as they passed 
the door one by one, each took from the jar a 
handful and threw it against the magic dipper. 
But each time the meal dropped to the ground, 
and left the pure pearl undimmed and radiant 
as ever. 

At last came the Yellow-Corn-Maidens, who 



ing our meal four days and still it will not 
stick, and you we did not tell till to-day. How 
then can you ever hope to win Nah-chu-ru- 
chu ? Pooh, you silly httle thing ! " 

But the Moon paid no attention whatever to 
their taunts. Drawing back her little dimpled 
hand, she threw the meal gently against the 
pearl o7naie, and so fine was it ground that 
every tiniest bit of it clung to the polished shell, 
and not a particle fell to the ground ! 




THE YELLOW-CORN-MAIDENS THROWING MEAL AT THE PEARL OMATE. 

had waited to watch the failure of the others. When Nah-chu-rii-chu saw that, he rose up 
As they came where they could see Nah-chu-ru- quickly from his loom and came and took the 



Moon by the hand, saying, " You are she who 
shall be my wife. You shall never want for 
anything, since I have very much." And he 
gave her many beautiful manias^ and cotton 
wraps, and fat boots of buckskin that wrap 
round and round, that she might dress as the 
wife of a rich chief. But the Yellow-Com- 
Maidens, who had seen it all, went away vow- 



chu sitting at his loom, they called : " Ah, here 
we have the meal that will stick ! " and each 
threw a handful at the ornate. But it did not 
stick at all ; and still from his seat Nah-chu-rii- 
chu could see, in the shell's mirror-like surface, 
all that went on outside. 

The Yellow-Corn-Maidens were very angry, 
and instead of passing on as the others had 
done, they stood there and kept throwing and ing vengeance on the Moon, 
throwing at the ornate, which smiled back at Nah-chu-rii-chu and his sweet Moon-wife 
them with undiminished luster. were very happy together. There was no other 

Just then, last of all, came the Moon, with a such housekeeper in all the pueblo as she, and 
single handful of meal which she had hastily no other hunter brought home so much buffalo- 
ground. The two sisters were in a fine rage by meat from the vast plains to the east, nor 
this time, and mocked her, saying : so many antelopes, and black-tailed deer, and 

" Hoh ! Fdh-hke-o/i* you poor thing, we are jack-rabbits from the Manzanos, as did Nah-chu- 
very sorry for you ! Here we have been grind- ni-chu. But constantly he was saying to her: 

* Tee-wahn name of the moon. 



?2] 



TEE-WAHN FOLK-STORIES. 



34: 



" Moon-wife, beware of the Yellow-Corn- house of the Yellow-Corn-Maidens with long. 

Maidens, for they have the evil road and will strong strides. 

try to do you harm; but you must always refuse " Yellow-Com-Maidens," he asked of them, 

to do whatever they propose." very sternly, "where is my little wife?" 

And always the young wife promised. " Why, is n't she at home ? " asked the 

One day the Yellow-Corn-Maidens came to wicked sisters, as if in great surprise. "She got 

the house and said : enough amok long before we did." 

" Friend Nah-chu-ru-chu, we are going to " Ah," groaned Nah-chu-rii-chu within him- 



the llatio * to gather ainole \. Will you not let 
your wife go with us ? " 

'* ( )h, yes, she may go," said Nah-chu-rii-chu ; 
hut. taking her aside, he said, " Now be sure 
that while with them you refuse whatever they 
may propose." 



self; " it is as I thought — they have done her 
ill." 

Ijut withcjut a word to them he turned on 
his heel and went away. 

From that hour all went ill with Isleta; for 

Nah-chu-rii-chu held the well-being of all his 

The Moon promised, and started away with people, even unto life and death. Paying no 

the Yellow-Com-Maidens. attention to what was going on about him, he 

In those days there was only a thick forest of sat motionless upon the topmost cros.spiece of 

cottonwoods where are now the smiling vine- the ^x////^? (sacred council-chamber) ladder — the 

yards, and gardens, and orchards of Isleta, and highest point in all the town — with his head 

to reach the llano the three women had to go bowed upon his hands. There he sat for days, 

through this forest. In the very center of it never speaking, never moving. The children 

they came to a deep pozo — a square well, with who played along the streets looked up with 

steps at one side leading down to the water's awe to the motionless figure, and ceased their 

edge. boisterous i>lay. The old men shook their 

"Ay!" said the Yellow-Corn- Maidens, •■how heads gravely, antl muttered : " We are in evil 

hot and thirsty is our walk ! Come, let us get times, for Nah-chu-rii-chu is mourning, and 

a drink ol water." will not be comforted; and there is no more 

But the Moon, remembering her husband's rain, so that our crops are dying in the fields. 

words, said politely that she did not wi.sh to What shall we do ? " 

drink. 'I'hey urged in vain, but at last, look- At last all the councilors met together, and 



ing down into the pozo, called : 

" Oh, Moon-friend, Moon-friend ! Come and 
look in tliis still water, and see how pretty you 
are ! " 



decided that there must be another effort made 
to find the lost wife. It was true that the 
great Nah-chu-rii-chu hail searched for her in 
vain, and the people had helped him : but per- 



The Moon, you must know, has always been haps some one else might be more fortunate, 

just as fond of looking at herself in the water So they took some of the .sacred smoking- weed 

as she is to this very ilay ; and forgetting Nah- wrapjjcd in a corn-husk and went to the eagle, 

chu-rii-chu's warning, she came to the brink, who has the sharpest eyes in all the world, 

and looked down upon her fair retlection. But diving him the sacred gift, they said: 

at that very moment the two witch-sisters " Ivtgle-friend. we see Nah-chu-rii-chu in 

pushed her iiead foremost into the pozo, and great trouble, for he has lost his Moon-wife, 

drowned her ; and then tiiey filled the well Come, search for her, we pray you, to di.scover 

with earth, and went away as happy as wicked if she be alive or dead." 

hearts can be. So the eagle took the ofiering. and smoked 

Nah-chu-rii-chu began lo look oftener from the smoke-praver : and then he went winging 

his loom to the door, as the sun crept along ujjward into the very sky. Higher and higher 

the adobr tloor, (loser and (loser lo his seat ; he rose, in great upward circles, while his keen 

and when the shadows were very long, he eyes noted every stick, and stone, and animal 

sjirang suddenly to his feet, and walked to the on the face of all the world. But with all his 

ri.nin. t Tlif soapy root of the palmilla, used for washing. 



344 



TEE-WAIIN FOLK-STORIES. 



[Mar. 



eyes, he could see 
nothing of the lost 
wife; and at last he 
came back sadly, and 
said: 

" People-friends, I 
went up to where I 
could see the whole 
world, but I could 
not find her." 

Then the people 
went with an offering 
to the coyote, whose 
nose is sharpest in all 
the world; and be- 
sought him to try to 
find the Moon. The 
coyote smoked the 
smoke-prayer, and 
started off with his 
nose to the ground, 
trying to find her 
tracks. He trotted all 
over the earth; but 
at last he too came 
back without finding 
what he sought. 

Then the troubled 
people got the badger 
to search, for he is 
best of all the beasts 





THE GRIEF OF NAH-CHU-R(5-CHU. 



who can find the 
dead — for surely she 
is dead, or the others 
would have found her. 
So they went to him 
and besought him. 
The turkey -buzzard 
wept when he saw 
Nah-chu-ru-chu still 
sitting there upon the 
ladder, and said : 
" Truly it is sad for 
our great friend; but 
for me, I am afraid 
to go, since they who 
are more mighty than 
I have already failed. 
Yet I will try." And 
spreading his broad 
wings, he went climb- 
ing up the spiral ladder 
of the sky. Higher he 
wheeled, and higher, 
till at last not even 
the eagle could see 
him. Up and up, till 
the hot sun began to 
singe his head, and 
not even the eagle 
had ever been so high. 
He cried with pain. 



at digging — and he it was whom the Trues em- but still he kept mounting — until he was so 
ployed to dig the caves in which the people close to the sun that all the feathers were burned 
first dwelt when they came to this world. The from his head and neck. But he could see 
badger trotted and pawed, and dug everywhere, nothing ; and at last, frantic with the burn- 
but he could not find the Moon ; and he came ing, he came wheeling downward. When he 
home very sad. got back to the estiifa where all the people were 
Then they asked the osprey, who can see fur- waiting, they saw that his head and neck had 
thest under water, and he sailed high above all been burnt bare of feathers — and from that day 



the lakes and rivers in the world, till he could 
count the pebbles and the fish in them, but he 
too failed to discover the lost Moon. 

By this time the crops were dead and sere in 
the fields, and thirsty animals walked crying 



to this the feathers would never grow out again. 

"And did you see nothing ? " they all asked, 
when they had bathed his burns. 

" Nothing," he answered, " except that when 
I was half-way down I saw in the middle of 



along the dry river. Scarcely could the people yon cottonwood forest a little mound covered 



themselves dig deep enough to find so much 
water as would keep them alive. They were 
at a loss what to do ; but at last they thought : 
We will go now to the P'ah-ku-ee-teh-ay-deh,* 



with all the beautiful flowers in the world." 

" Oh ! " cried Nah-chu-ru-chu, speaking for 
the first time. " Go, friend, and bring me one 
flower from the very middle of that mound." 



* Turkey-buzzard; literally, "water-goose-grandfather." 



iSgz ] 



TEE-WAHN FOLK -STORIES. 



345 



Off flew the buzzard, and in a few minutes 
returned with a httle white flower. Nah-chu- 
rii-chu took it, and, descending from the ladder 
in silence, walked solemnly to his house, while 
all the wondering people followed. 

When Nah-chu-ru-chu came inside his home 
once more, he took a new ?finnfa and spread it 
in the middle of the room ; and laying the wee 
white flower tenderly in its center, he put an- 
other new manta above it. Then, dressing 
himself in the splendid buckskm suit the lost 
wife had made him, and taking in his right 
hand the sacred gnaje (rattle), he seated him- 
self at the head of the mantas and sang : 

'■^Shu-nah, shii-tiah / Ai-ay-ay, ai-ay-aj, ai-ay- 
ay." (Seeking her, seeking her ! There-away, 
there-away.) 

When he had finished the song, all could see 
that the flower had begun to grow, so that it 
lifted the upper manta a little. Again he sang, 
shaking his gourd ; and still the flower kept 
growing. Again and again he sang; and when 
he had finished for the fourth time, it was plain 
to all that a human form lay between the two 
mantas. And when he sang his song the fifth 
time, the form sat up and moved. Tenderly 
he lifted away the upper cloth ; and there sat his 
sweet Moon-wife, fairer than ever, and alive as 
before ! 

For four days the people danced and sang in 
the public scjuare. Nah-chu-rii-chu was happy 
again ; and now the rain began to fall. The 
choked earth drank and was glad and green, 
and the dead crops came to life. 

When his wife told him how the witch-sisters 
had done, he was very angry ; and that very 
day he made a beautiful hoop to play the hoop- 
game. He i)aintcd it, and put many strings 
across it, and decorated it with beaded buckskin. 



'• Xow," said he, " the wicked Yellow-Com- 
Maidens will come to congratulate you, and 
will pretend not to know where you were. 
Vou must not speak of that, but invite them to 
go out and play a game with you." 

In a day or two the witch-sisters did come, 
with deceitful words ; and the Moon invited 
them to go out and play a game. They went 
up to the edge of the /lam), and there she let 
them get a glimpse of the pretty hoop. 

" Oh, give us that. Moon-friend," they teased. 

But she refused. At last, however, she said: 

" Well, we will play the hoop-game. I. will 
stand here, and you there ; and if, when I roll 
it to you, you catch it before it falls upon its 
side, you may have it." 

So the witch-sisters stood a little way down 
the hill, and she rolled the bright hoop. As it 
came trundling to them, both grasped it at the 
same instant ; and lo I instead of the Yellow- 
Com-Maidens, there were two great snakes, 
with tears rolling down ugly faces. The 
Moon came and put upon their heads a little 
of the pollen of the corn-blossom (still used 
by Pueblo snake-charmers) to tame them, and 
a pinch of the sacred meal for their food. 

" Now," said she, " you have the reward of 
treacherous friends. Here shall be your home 
among these rocks and clifts forever, but you 
must never be found upon the jirairie : and you 
must never bite a person. Remember you are 
women, and must be gentle." 

And then the Moon went home to her hus- 
band, and they were very happy together. As 
for the sister snakes, they still dwell where she 
baile them, and never venture away : though 
sometimes the people bring them to their houses 
to catch the mice, for these snakes never hurt a 
person. 





The sun was setting over the island of St. 
Helena on a fine spring evening in 1673, and 
in its red glow the vast black clifts stood out 
like the walls of a fortress above the great 
waste of lonely sea that lay around them as far wind under a full press of sail, had just hoisted 
as the eye could reach. Very quiet and very the red cross of St. George (not yet changed 



cranny of the surrounding cliff's echo again. 
What could it all mean ? 

It meant that the stout-hearted Dutchmen 
who had taken the island from England a few 
months before were about to have their cour- 
age again put to the proof. Those five ships 
of war in the ofiing, coming down before the 



lonesome did it appear, that tiny islet, far away 
in the heart of the boundless ocean ; for the 
world had scarcely heard of it in those days, 
and 142 years were still to pass before Napo- 
leon should come there to die, and thereby 
make St. Helena famous forever. 

But there was one part of the island that was 
busy and noisy enough, and that was the spot 
where the low white houses and single church- 
spire of Jamestown, half buried in clustering 



into the Union Jack), and Englishman and 
Dutchman alike were eager to try 

" Whether John or Jan 
Be the better man," 



as one of their favorite songs worded it. 



gmnmg 



Neither side, certainly, lost any time in be- 
The sturdy Hollanders did not wait 
even for a summons to surrender. The fore- 
most English ship had barely dropped her an- 
leaves, nestled in a deep gully close to the wa- chor in front of the Zwart Steen Battery, when 
ter's edge, walled in by two mighty precipices there was a red flash from the old gray wall, a 
nearly a thousand feet in height. All along the loud bang, and then a cannon-ball came tear- 
line of forts and batteries, perched hke birds' ing through the foretopsail, and splashed into 
nests among the frowning crags that overhung the water far beyond. Bang went the English- 
the sea, there was an unwonted stir and bustle, man's whole broadside in return, and the balls 



Cannon were rumbling to and fro, rusty pikes 
and muskets were being dragged forth and laid 
in readiness, soldiers in buff jackets and big 
looped-up hats were clustering along the ram- 



were heard rattling among the rocks, or crash- 
ing into the front of the breastwork ; and now 
the fight began in earnest. 

Fire, smoke, flying shot, crashing timbers, 



parts, while hoarse words of command, clank- deafening uproar, multiplied a thousandfold by 
ing swords, the ceaseless tramp of feet, and the the echoes of the surrounding hills — it was a 
clatter of gun-stocks and pike-staves made every hard fight, for there were Dutchmen behind 

346 



HOLD FAST TOM. 



34; 



When the EngUsh ships first advanced to the 
attack, the hindmost of them, while still hidden 
from the Dutch by the huge black pyramid of 
Sugar-loaf Point, had lowered several large 
boats filled with armed men, which instantly 
shot away round the great rocky bluff of " the 
Bam " as fast as eight oars apiece could carry 
them. 

Away they went past headland after headland, 



V^v- 



\ 



•t "^ 



those batteries who had swept the Channel 
with \'an Tromp, and there were Englishmen 
aboard those ships who had fought him and 
his men, yard-arm to yard-arm, under Rob- 
ert Blake ; and it would have been hard to tell 
which were the braver or the more stubborn of 
the two. 

" Fire away, boys, for the honor of Old Eng- 
land!" shouted Captain Richard Munden, pa- 
cing up and down the quarter- 
deck of the British flag-ship 
amid a hail of shot. 

" Stand to it, my sons, as if 
Father Van Tromp were with 
you still!" cried the brave old 
Dutch commandant, Pieter Van 
Gebhardt, as he leveled a gun 
with his own hands over the 
fast-crumbling parapet. " Fear 
not for the fire and smoke ; it is 
but the Englishman hghting his 
pipe." 

Both sides fought stoutly, and 
men began to fall fast ; but it 
seemed as if on the whole the 
Dutch were getting the best of 
it. The ships, lying out upon 
the smooth water, made an ex- 
cellent mark, while the rock-cut 
batteries could hardly be distin- 
guished from the cliff itself 

But just at that moment a 
very unexpected turn of fortune 
changed the whole face of the 
battle. To explain how this 
hai»pencd, we must go back a 
little wav. 



The 1 )utch garrison had given 
their whole attention to the at- 
tack in front, feeling sure that 

this was the onl)- \Hnni from which they couUi be while every eye was fixed upon the rocky shore, 

assailed. .\nd they reasoned well ; for every- as if seeking something which was not easily 

where else the coast was merely one great jjreci- to be found. 

pice of several hundred feet, rising so sheer out At length, just when they rounded the bold, 

of the sea that it seemed as if nothing without craggy promontory of King and Queen point, a 

wings coulil possibly scale it. dull boom reached their ears, followed instantly 

lUit they might perhaps have been less confi- by the thunder of a sustained cannonade. At 

dent had they seen what was going on just then that familiar sounil the sailors clenched their 

at the opposite side of the island. teeth savagely, as they looked u]) at the tremen- 




TOM SCAI.INr. THE CKACi. (SKE Sh\r IVi.h.) 



;48 



"HOLD FAST TOM." 



dous precipices that seemed to shut them out 
from all hope of taking part in the battle. 

" Can't we get up anywhere ? " growled the 
captain of the frigate, who was in the foremost 
boat. " We 're disgraced forever if they do the 
job without us." 

" With your honor's leave," broke in a stal- 
wart young topman, touching his thick brown 
forelock, " I think I could get up that rock 
yonder, and fasten a rope for the rest to climb 
by." * 

" What! up there?''' cried the captain, glan- 
cing doubtfully from the young sailor's bright, 
fearless face to the tremendous height above. 
" Well, my lad, if you can do it, I '11 give you 
fifty guineas!" 

" It 's for the honor of the flag, not for the 
money, sir ! " answered the seaman, springing 
from the boat to the lowest ledge of the terrible 
rock. 

Up, up, up, ever higher he clambered, with the 
rising wind flinging his loose hair to and fro, 
and the startled sea-birds whirling around him 
with hoarse screams of mingled fear and rage. 
To the watching eyes far below, the tiny points 
of rock to which he clung were quite invisible, 
and he seemed to be hanging in mid-air, like a 
fly on the side of a wall. 

And now he was two thirds of the way up the 
precipice; and now he was within a few yards 
of the top; and now his hand almost touched 
the highest ledge, when suddenly his feet were 
seen to slide from under him, and in a moment 
he was swinging in the empty air, grasping a 
projecting crag with the strength of desperation. 

" Hold fast, Tom ! " yelled his comrades, as 
they saw him. 

Tom did hold fast, and the strong hands that 
had defied the full fury of an Atlantic gale to 
loosen them from the slippery rigging did him 

* The capture of Gibraltar by Sir George Rooke 



good service once more. He regained his foot- 
ing, and the indrawn breath of the anxious 
gazers below sounded like a hiss in the grim 
silence as they watched the final eftbrt that 
brought him safely to the top. 

The rope was soon fixed, and the last man 
had scarcely mounted when the daring band 
were hurrying across the ridgy interior of the 
island toward the spot whence the cannonade 
still boomed upon the evening air. And there it 
was at last, as they crowned the farthest ridge, 
the tall masts standing up through billowy 
smoke, and the batteries marked out amid the 
gathering darkness by the flashes of their own 
cannon. A deadly volley of English musketry 
cracked along the cliff, and several of the Dutch 
were seen to fall, while dismay and confusion 
spread fast among the survivors. Thus caught 
between two fires, with the British ships thun- 
dering upon them from below, and the British 
marksmen shooting them down from above, the 
defenders had no chance ; and at length brave 
old Van Gebhardt, with a look of bitter grief on 
his iron face, slowly hauled down the Dutch flag 
in token of surrender. 

" Mynheer," said he to the English captain, 
as the latter came marching into the fort at the 
head of his men, " my followers have done all 
that men could do; but yours have done more." 

" And if we had not done more, we could never 
have beaten the gallant Dutchmen," answered 
the captain, taking off his battered cocked hat 
with a polite bow. 

Thus it was that the Enghsh regained St. 
Helena, over which the British flag flies to this 
day. Nor has the brave fellow who led that 
daring attack been forgotten ; for when I visited 
the island, I found that the crag which he scaled 
(and a very grim-looking crag it is) still goes by 
the name of " Holdfast Tom." 

, in 1703, was aided by a feat of the bame kind. 



TIIK BOOMKRANG. 



By Arthur Howlett Coaxes. 



Every one has heard of the boomerang, and long job ; or perhaps a whole stand of arms — 

not a few have seen one; but of really reliable a still longer one. 

information as to this weapon and its maker, After about two hours' labor the womera will 

the Austrahan savage, there is very little. be reduced to three or four pounds weight, but 

Three years ago I lived close to an aboriginal it is still a long way from being a finished weapon, 

camp in New South Wales. This camp was As it now appears it is a flat, heavy club, longer 

only about two hundred yards from our settle- and thinner at one arm than at the other. The 

ment, and it was my daily custom to walk over black is a decidedly lazy specimen of the human 

to the nworo/ii:;, as they called it, and study the species, and he will as often as not lay aside his 

habits of the blackfellows, as the original na- uncompleted weapon for a week or perhaps a 

lives of Australia are called. longer period. When he resumes work the wood 

I was naturally more interested in the boom- will have become hard and dry, and conse- 

erang than in any other of their weapons, and quently difficult to work upon, but it never once 

with a little practice soon learned to throw it. occurs to him that he is now paying for his 

In the language of this tribe, the Uong-ei-l'o?i^^, former indolence. Time, however, is of little 

which is situated in the Bogan River region, or no consecjuence to the black, 

the boomerang is called a womera. After some further paring down the weapon is 

I shall therefore call it a womera. The wo- charred all over, and this part of the work is 

mera is made from what is technically known quite skilfully done, no one part being more 

as an " elbow " from the kurrawung tree, and burned than another. The charcoal is chipped 

sometimes from the yarran and myall trees, off, and the blackfellow then licks the weapon 

All of these trees belong to the acacia tribe, all over with his tongue, and jilaces it in a 

and have sweet-scented woods. smoky fire of green boughs, which warms it and 

The kurrawung is a remarkably hard wood, makes it quite pliable. 

tough as oak one way of the grain, hut almost He now begins experimental throws; antl 

as "splitty" as deal the other. I think the if the weajjon does not return to him as it 

blackfellows could get a much more reliable should do, he will bend it slightly outward 

weapon from a native oak, but probably this on the long end. This slight curve is most 

wood was too hard for the old-time blacks to ingeniously given with the hamis and feet while 

work on with their primitive tools, and the pres- the wood is yet pliant. 

ent generation have not troubled, or are not Standing almost upright, anil kee|)ing the 

bright enough, to try fresh woods. The black- womera in a line with his eye, he will hold the 

fellow, having found a suitable elbow, chops weapon in his right hand and between the first 

it out of the tree, and, as it is generally too two toes of the right foot. The toes of the left 

heavy to carry home, trims it on the spot into foot are then used to draw over the wood to the 

the rough outline of the forthcoming weapon, right curve, which sometimes may not be at- 

This work is done with the little .Xmerican steel taineil until after several bendings. 

tomahawk or ax, whi( li, in comparison with When the womera will travel well through 

their ancient stone ax, is such an inestimable the air, and return as nearly as the blackfellow 

boon that the black will ])art with anything requires, he lays it aside until it becomes cool 

rather than this. 'i"o buy it from the white and hard once more, 

storekeeper he has to make an oi)ossum rug — a Practically it is a finished weapon, but the 

349 



v) 



50 



THE BOOMERANG. 



[Mar. 



workman loves to adorn the womera, and to really more in the shape of the weapon than in 
do this he has a particular tool which is simply the skill with which it is thrown — a white man 
one blade of an old pair of sheep-shears, given soon learning to throw it fairly well. 



him by some shearer or squatter, 
point of this blade on a stone 
until it has a round but very 
sharp edge. With this rounded 
edge he clips little shavings, all 
in one direction, from the flat 
surface of the womera. This 
process occupies him a full day. 
He will then perhaps scratch a 
few crossed lines at one end as 
a final ornamentation, and the 
womera is complete. 

We have now a weapon about 
a yard long, four inches wide, 
one eighth of an inch thick, 
and weighing from a pound to 
a pound and a half It has a 
brownish or umber appearance 
from the charring and smoking 
it has received, though all the 
charred part of the wood is re- 






He rubs the The common and the easiest way of throwing 



If/- 

5 ^r * 








BEGINNING THE THROW. 



it is to take a short run and hurl it from the 
shoulder with the point downward, giving the 
weapon a slight horizontal twist as it leaves 
the hand. It will travel about thirty or forty 
yards on a plane with the thrower's head, and 
then suddenly shoot upward with increased 
speed at an angle of fifty degrees, and, after 
reaching a height of sixty or seventy feet, will 
moved. The fine chippings made with the old rapidly return, whirling swiftly around. If 
shear-blade give it a wonderfully pretty finish, the soil be soft, one of its ends will be buried 
and it is an ornament to any room, which, if it several inches in the earth. When well thrown, 
be made of yarran, it for a time fills witli a sweet it returns nearly to the spot from which it was 
smell. hurled. 

The peculiarities of the womera's flight lie The natives have a way of throwing it, how- 



1892] 



THE BOOMERANG. 



351 



ever, which gives the weapon a lower flight, and 
then it goes further and faster. 

They hurl it directly toward the ground, on 
which, at a distance of about fifteen yards, it 
sharply impinges, and it will then gradually rise 
and travel a great way. 

Having seen a little black boy with his 
tiny womera, which was made for him by an 
affectionate father, bring a small parrot down 
from the bough of a tree at a first attempt, I 
thought I would like to see the best effort of a 
full-grown black. So I got one of the blacks, 
with whom I was quite friendly, to give me a 
specimen of his skill in throwing his wonder- 
ful weapon. 

We were standing on the veranda of the house 
at which I lived, and in front of us was a large 
clearing. 

" Where shall I throw it ? " said he, drawing a 
light womera from his belt. I selected a tree, 
which was o\er two hundred yards away, 
scarcely expecting to see his womera travel 
much more than half the distance. Taking a 
short run, he threw it with all his force, and 
the womera, after lightly touching the ground, 
sped with marvelous velocity in a somewhat 
circular route toward the tree. It passed 
through the light and feathery foliage at the 
summit of tlie tree, and continuing in the same 
sharp curve, it turned for home. I rapidly 
counted twenty-five while I watched its return. 
and it actually seemed to burst in on us as it 



struck the ground at my very feet, scattering 
dust and stones from the track all over us. 

It often occurs that a womera will split in half 
should it hit a stone or other hard substance 
when it reaches the earth. 

There is a womera made which will not re- 
turn. The long end is finished off with a sort 
of a.x. This kind, however, is used only in war, 
which is now rare, and occurs in the very far 
" back-blocks," as the Australian settlers call 
the interior of the country. 

The womera is made in every size, from the 
toy weapon of the child to one which is over 
a yard long and will kill any large game. The 
women are never allowed to use the womera, 
but every little boy is made proud and happy 
by the gift of a small one from his father, and 
it is his delight to use it too, w hizzing it all over 
the camp until his mother, or some other ag- 
grieved person, is perhaps obliged to take it 
away from him. 

The blackfellow is quite ready to sell any of 
his weapons but his sacred tomahawk and the 
choicest of his womeras, as only a few of the 
latter will return quite to the point from which 
they are thrown. Hence a really good womera, 
capable of doing all that is required of it. is 
very rare, even in the Australian museums. 

The Australian black's won^lerful come-back 
weapons are actually able to kill a man hiding 
behind a tree or round a corner, after the man- 
ner of the fabled Irishman's gun. 



|()1L\N\'S Rl-CKUM-\r.. 



r.\ (AKdllM-. I''.VANS. 



1 'vK, thought of such a jolly plan! The calendar, you know, 

Seems (|uite unfinished, for most months keej) spilling over so. 

Now shoulil they all have just four weeks, the pages would look neat. 

And surplus days together form another month complete. 

An extra month with one odd dav — oh, wduld n't it be i)rime 

If this were done, and atlded on to our vacation-time! 




T 



Blj ^udara jg. JBumstead. 



1 Keep my J)oJly 50 vOarm and nice 

TKis cloudy , storn^ vOeather . 
yiy Dolly and I are cjuiet as mice 

Whenever We play tooetJ^er . 
And yet we have the pleasantest play - 

\aAou1J you like io asK "What is it ?" 
Why, over euid over , every day , 

JMy J)olly and I '^o visit ." 

Sometimes on'Towser'We liKe to call , 

Or travel to 5ee the fdtiy ; 
Tis 9-randpas iarm just out in the hall, 
, And the parlor is Boston City; 
Tis niaiTia's house in ihe corner there , 

And then ,A\)hen the lamps are liahted , j 
Jiy papas at home in his easy chair, ' 

Avnd Dolly and I are invited. 





352 



l^t^l^-'^ 



>z^, \ 







h 



:^/^ 










"^^ 



-•^^ 



By E. Vintox Blake. 



It was on a i)Ieasant June morning that I 
rode out of the inn gates in Santa Carnova, 
a little, dirty Mexican town away down in 
southwestern Texas. You need n't look on your 
maps for it, — I never could find it on one yet, 
and you cannot. But of all the ill-conditioned 
towns I ever saw, this ranks among the worst. 

Well, as I said, I rode out of the gateway of 
the inn on a June morning. Not at all such 
an inn as you would imagine, but a plain, 
untidy, square, flat-roofed structure built of 
adobes — a kind of sun-dried bricks. There 
was an archway leading to an ill-paved court, 
and as I rode out I gave " Rangoon " the rein. 

A proud head, two alert ears, a silky-bright 
bay coat, four swift, restless feet, a frame of 
iron and muscles of steel — such was Rangoon. 
No one ever ruled him but I, anil he scorned 
all laws but the law of love. If you own 
horses, boys, make them love you, and you 
have stanch friends — truer, sometimes, than 
human ones — who will not fail you in time 
of need. Rangoon loved mc ; he obeye«l mv 
voice or .signal ; I could guide him by word, if 
necessary. He saved my life many times, and 
at last gave his own for mine. lUit of tliat 
I will not tell now. 

I rode at full gallop down the ilirty, narrow 

street. I was glad to see the last of the dingy 

houses, to leave the road, and to strike ofi" on 

the trail that led northeast across the prairie. 

Vol . \IX. — 23 35 



Many Eastern boys know nothing of the prai- 
ries, the wide, grand, far-reaching, undulating 
lands that lie all through the southwest and 
west. Ah, that morning the world seemed as 
fresh and sweet as on the morning of the crea- 
tion ! The prairie was a mass of flowers ; the 
air indescribably pure and exhilarating. The 
sun rose to meet me, slanting goldenly over 
the tops of the long swells. Rangoon had 
buckled down to his day's work, going forward 
with the long, easy, loping gallop natural to 
him. I rode all the morning. The sun crej)! 
up and up the sky, and at noon I camped 
down in the timber by a swift, narrow creek, for 
dinner. I was in a hurry that day. 1 wanteil 
to be in Mendios by noon on the morrow ; I 
had many a weary mile to get over, and ex- 
pected the prairie to be my bedroom for the 
night. 1 liked company too well, generally, 
to travel alone, but I was taking a cross-cut to 
meet the Doctor, whom I expected to find at 
the inn in Mendios. 

Well, when the sun began to decline in the 
west, I was still in the .s;iddle and galloping on 
to the northeast as I had been all day. I was 
tired; so was Rangoon. He slackened sud- 
denly to a slow trot, threw up his head, and 
snitTcd the air. Just then something singular 
ha|)pene«l. .\ child's cr\-. faint but clear, 
came to my ears. I declare to you, a cold 
chill crept over me. Just consitler. I was at 



354 



LITTLE MR. QUIMBO. 



[Mar 



least fifty miles from any human habitation, 
and I did not know what to make of it. Ran- 
goon stopped short. 

That cry again ! A long-drawn, pitiful cry; it 
made my hair stand on end. I don't know 
whether I thought it was a ghost, or what; but 
nothing ever moved me before or since as I was 
moved at that moment. It was sunset, too, and 
the dusk of evening was beginning to envelop 
all things. The wide, far-reaching prairie lay 
on all sides, no human being was near ; no emi- 
grant-wagon would pass this way, it seemed to 
me. The tall grass and flowers waved silently 
in the fresh wind. I tried to start Rangoon 
along. I said to myself, " It is a coyote, or a 
prairie-dog " ; but common sense told me better. 
Suddenly Rangoon turned short round and 
dashed off to the left. He took the bit in 
his teeth, put down his head, and bolted. What 
under the sun possessed him, I could not tell. 
For about three minutes he galloped like mad 
through the tall grass, and then brought up 
with a jerk. 

What did I see ? A little fellow about three 
years old, standing in the tall grass which was 
as high as his head. He had beaten it down 
all round him. A wee little man alone on the 
lonely, darkening prairie, with none but God 
and the angels to watch over and defend him. 

He looked up into my face with a pair of 
the brightest eyes I ever saw, and said, " Well, 
I 's dot most tired out ! I fought nobody 
would n't never tum. You 's been a most awful 
long time, Mr. Man ! " 

I never said a word. I could n't ; some- 
thing choked me. I reached down, pulled the 
little fellow up, and set him in front of me. 
Then I reined Rangoon back to the trail I had 
left. 

" I dess I 'm some t'irsty, Mr. Man," said the 
wee mite; and, still without a word, I gave him 
my canteen. 

"I dess I 'm some hungry, too," he added; 
and then, looking up in my face, he observed, 
" Has you lost your tongue, Mr, Man ? " 

" No," said I ; but I could hardly smile. Do 
any of you realize, as I realized then, the prob- 
able fate of this innocent child left alone on 
the wide prairie at nightfall ? 

" How did you come here, child ? " said I. . 



" I 's little Mr. Quimbo," he explained with 
dignity. " I did tum in a big wagon wiz a 
white top, an' I tooked a walk, an' I went all 
aseepy, and zis mornin' de wagon was all 
gone ! " 

" Who was in the wagon ? " 

" My papa 'n' mama, course," he answered 
with complacency ; " an' Sam ; he 's a black 
man. An' my Kitty, an' ' Bo Peep.' He 's a 
lamb. Bo Peep is." 

" What 's your papa's name ? " 

" Papa 'honey' — zat what mama says." 

" Nothing else ? " asked I. 

" Nufiin' 't all. S'pose I don't know ? " said 
the midget. 

" Where were you going in the big wagon ? " 

Here Htde Mr. Quimbo was at fault. He 
said his papa was going to a big river; but he 
knew no more of the matter. 

Plainly, there was nothing for it but to con- 
vey little Mr. Quimbo to Mendios, where I 
might possibly obtain information of the wagon. 
I camped down soon, for it was too late to 
search further for timber, picketed Rangoon 
near by, and rolled the child and myself in 
the blanket. 

I did n't sleep much; but the little fellow 
hardly stirred all night. Toward morning 
Rangoon slipped his halter, and came and lay 
down close to me, treading circumspectly, for 
fear of hurting me. After he laid himself 
down, he stretched his long neck over and 
sniffed at the child with an air of astonishment. 

" It 's all right, old fellow," said I sleep- 
ily. " We '11 take care of him, won't we, 
Rangoon ? " 

I dozed and waked till the western sky 
turned darker blue, the east a lighter gray. 
The stars paled and went out. The east 
turned pink, then rosy, and golden streaks shot 
up. It was sunrise. A fresh wind blew across 
the flower-prairie. 

I rose; so did Rangoon. The child still 
slept. I was investigating the contents of my 
knapsack, and wondering whether it would pay 
to stop to shoot and cook game, — for I was in 
haste, — when a shout of laughter made me 
turn. 

The young scamp was hanging for dear life 
to Rangoon's tail ! 



1892] 



LITTI.F. MR. QUIMBO. 



355 



Rangoon was amazed. He gave a jump and 
whirl which swung die child about like a feather ; 
but the boy still laughed and would not let go. 

"Bless my soul, child! The horse might 
kick the life out of you ! " I cried, and sprung 
to the rescue. But Rangoon knew better. 
He stopped, laid back his ears, and shook his 
head. I got the midget away, and gave him a 
fatherly caution. 

Then breakfost, and a fresh start. Little 
Mr. Quimbo chattered like a magpie. But 



Spanish compliments. Out also came a ragged 
old woman, who said she would take my horse. 

" Is Sehor the Doctor here ? " I asked in 
Spanish. 

Before he could answer the Doctor's pordy 
form, perspiring face, and jovial voice made 
answer for themselves. 

" Ransom, my dear fellow, you 've been for- 
ever and a day. Here I 've spent two nights 
in this wretched old place. But, my dear fel- 
low, whose child is that ? " 




1 SAW A LriTI.lC hKl.l.dW STANnl.Nt. IS 1H1-. lA.L 



UllUll V. As 



toward noon he grew sleepy, and by the time 
I struck the broad, quiet street of iMendios, he 
was asleep in my arms. 

This inn was quite imposing. Some of the 
windows had balconies. It was built in a hol- 
low square with a large paved court in the 
middle. There was a fountain in the court. 
You entered under a part of the house, through 
an arched passage; and the clang of Ran- 
goon's hoofs on the flags opened wide little 
Mr. Quimbo's eyes. 

"Has you dot derc, Mr. Man?" was his 
salutation. " Where 's my papa 'n' mama ? " 

I felt uneasy. What if I could n't find them ? 
Out came the host with many low bows and 



" I 's my papa 'n' mania's child," said digni- 
fied litde Mr. Quimbo. 

•• I picked him up on the prairie. Doctor. 
Do you know anything of any emigrant-wagon 
that has passed hereabout ? " 

"They 're all over creation; you might as 
well search for a needle in a haystack." said 
the Doctor philosophically. " Hold on, though. 
Seems as if there was one that went out of here 
early this morning." He inquired in Spanish 
of the attentive innkeeper. 

" Si, senores — and in it was the Sefior Hayes, 
his wife, who seemed like one distraught, and a 
rascally negro. They go to Broad's ranch ; it is 
not far from here, five miles down the San Saba." 



356 



I.ITTLR MR. QUIMBO. 



" I must go on down there at once, old fel- 
low," said I to the Doctor. " I '11 be back this 
afternoon." 

And down the narrow trail by the San Saba 
I galloped at the top of Rangoon's speed, with 
httle Mr. Quimbo on the pommel of the saddle. 

By and by we saw the ranch, on a knoll 
overlooking a bend of the stream. 

" Dere 's zat wagon now," remarked litde 
Mr. Quimbo. " I dess I t'ink it 's pretty mean — 



" He 's my brother Abner's. Abner ! come 
here ! " the man called through the house. 
Then to me, " Stranger, you never see such a 
time as we 've had here since Abner and his wife 
come this mornin'. She 's nigh about crazy 
'cause they lost the boy on the perarie, an' she 
goes on like a cre'tur' possessed. There now ! ' 

There was a rush from an inner room — a 
cry — a sob — and little Mr. Quimbo was 
snatched out of my arms. When Mr. Hayes 







DERE S ZAT WAGON NOW, REMARKED LITTLE MR. QUIMBO. 



goin' an' leavin' mc. 'Mos' dot a min' not to 
speak to 'em ! " 

A negro sat idly on the shafts; a lamb was 
tied to one of the wagon-wheels by a long rope. 
The negro looked up as we rode through the 
gates, jumped several feet, and gave a shriek. 

"Oh, hi — yar/ dar he is! Dar he is now, 
dis yer minute ! Oh, lors-a-massy, Mars' Hayes, 
whar is you, anyway ! Hi ! Mars' Hayes ! come 
out hyar, quick, dis minute ! " 

And he performed around Rangoon a war- 
dance startling to behold. 

Two men rushed to the door as I ascended 
the steps, the child in my arms. 

"Stranger — God bless you! — where 'd you 
come by that boy ? Tell me quick ! " 

He seized me and the child together. 

" Is he yours ? " asked I. 



had set his wife and boy on the settle, — for she 
nearly fainted away, — he made a charge at 
me. Everybody else made a charge at the 
same time ; two or three got hold of my hands 
at once, and they were nearly shaken off in 
the excitement and gratitude of these good 
people. 

" Hold on — hold on ! " said I when I got 
my breath. " It 's all right, friends, but I am 
a bashful fellow, you see, and this is all quite 
too much, you understand ! " 

In the hearty laugh that followed, the tears 
were wiped away, and the men became com- 
posed. 

I can assure you, I did n't get away from 
Broad's ranch that afternoon, and I left next 
day under strict promise to see them again, 
whenever I came that wav. 



TWO GIRLS AXI) A BOY. 



By Lieut. R. II. Fletchkr. 



[Begun in the January number.^ 

Chapter V. 

When Mildred led the little procession into 
her mother's presence, Mrs. Fairleigh held out 
her hand to Leslie and said kindly, " How do 
you do, my dear? Are you well?" 

" Oh, yes, ma'am, thank you," replied Leslie 
heartily, though somewhat bashfully ; " I 'm al- 
ways well," and then she giggled a Utde, partly 
at the idea of her being anything else but well, 
and pardy because of their all having marched 
in there in file like a corporal's scjuad. 

"And how are you, Charlie?" said Mr>. 
Fairleigh, giving him her other hand. 

Charlie, having acknowledged that he too 
was well, began to feel a litde embarrassed 
over the proper way of opening the subject 
about which they had called. 

Seeing this, Mrs. Fairleigh helped him out 
by saying smilingly, '■ Now, I wonder what it is 
that two little girls and one big l)oy want to 
consult me about. 1 don't think that it can be 
dolls' dresses?" 

This with another look at Leslie, who there- 
upon availed herself of the chance to laugh 
aloud, and said, " No, indeed ! " 

" Well," said Mrs. F\airleigh. pretemhng to 
think very hard, "it is n't anything about — 
about — books?" this time to Charlie. 
*' No 'm," said Charlie. 

"It is n't permission to go to see Leslie?" 
said Mrs. Fairleigh to Mildred. 

" No," said Mildrcil. clasping her hands, 
while her eyes danced with pleasure. " it i-< n't 
that, (luess again, Nhima 1 " 

" Well, I 'm afraid that I shall have to give it 
up," said Mrs. Fairleigh. turning to Charlie. 
" Some one will have to tell me." 

Hy this time Charlie had found his tongue. 

" We want to know.' he said. " if we can't 

get up a little play, just we three, and one or 

two more, and have it up-stairs in the attic. ' 



Then they all looked anxiously at Mrs. Fair- 
leigh. 

" Oh, that is it," she said pleasantly. " But 
tell me more about it. When do you wish to 
have it ? " 

" Oh, not for a long time yet," said Charlie, 
" because it will take a long time to get ready. 
I '11 have to write the play first, and then we '11 
have to fix up the costumes, and rehearse, and 
make the scenery, and all that." 

" But won't it be a great deal of work ? " said 
Mrs. Fairleigh. 

•• Oh, we don't mind that! " exclaimed Leslie 
eagerly. " It will be fun." 

"Yes," said Mrs. Fairleigh. "but Mildred's 
time is nearly all occupied now, going to school 
and studying her lessons, and I should not like 
her to undertake anything that will interfere 
with her studies." 

Then Mildred's hopes began to fade away. 
She had not known before how firm a hold this 
project hail taken on her imagination. To be 
sure, .she never had acted in a play, but Charlie 
had said that she could, and she now wanted 
very much to try. The idea of appearing 
dressed in a strange costume before other peo- 
ple, while it made her heart beat faster, became 
more attractive the more she thought of it. So 
that now,when her mother seemed about to refuse 
permission, she felt very much ilisappointed. 
and clasping her hands she looked at her mother 
appealingly, and said, " Oh, NLima. please : " 

" But whom are you going to have for the 
audience?" said Mrs. Faideigh, after a mo- 
ment's thought. 

"Just you, and >Lijor Fairleigh. if he will 
come," said Charlie, "and iia. and ma. and 
maybe Frank Woods's father and mother, and a 
few of Mildreil's friends and Leslie's and mine ; 

that 's all." 

•• Is that all ? " said Mrs. Fairleigh. smiling. 
" .\nd who will make the scenery and cos- 
tumes ? " 



357 



TWO GIRLS AND A BOY. 



" Oh, we will," said Charlie, confidently. 

" Well," said Mrs. Fairleigh, after another 
few moments of silence in which she looked at 
the eager faces in front of her, " I wish that I 
could say yes. But first 1 must think it over. 
And perhaps it is better for me to tell you now, 
frankly, that I doubt very much whether it will 
be possible. Would you be greatly disappointed 
if I were to say no?" 

Their three faces showed very plainly that 
they would be. But Charlie spoke up manfully, 
and said, " Oh, you know best, Mrs. Fairleigh. 
Maybe we ought not to have asked you. 
Maybe it might give you a good deal of bother. 
I just thought it would be fun, because we got 
talking about it up there in the attic, where 
there are a good many things we might use in a 
theater, you know. But it does n't matter if 
you 'd rather we did n't." 

Then Mrs. Fairleigh gave Charlie her hand, 
and said, " It is not that it would bother me, 
Charlie ; but there are so many other things to 
be taken into consideration, — which I cannot 
explain very well just now. As I tell you, I 
will think it over and let you know by and by." 

" Yes, ma'am," said Charhe ; and then, not 
knowing what else to say, he said, " Thank 
you." And the deputation slowly filed out of 
the room. 

When they were once more by themselves, 
Leslie said discontentedly, " Oh, I think she 
might ! " 

Whereupon Mildred looked at her doubtfully 
out of big eyes that were full of disappointment. 

" I 'm not sure that we ought to have asked 
her," said Charlie, thoughtfully, rubbing his 
hand over his closely cropped hair. "And at 
any rate," he added decidedly, " she was very 
kind to us about it." 

Whereupon Mildred turned her eyes upon 
him, but there was no doubt whatever in them 
this time, only pleasure that Charlie should 
have spoken in that way of her mother. Still, 
in her secret heart Mildred was dissatisfied. 
It seemed to her that it would have been such 
an easy thing for her mother to have said 
yes, especially when they all wanted to have 
the play so much. And when Leslie and 
Charlie had gone home, Mildred went back 
into the sitting-room and wandered around 



[Mar. 



aimlessly, until her mother looked up and said, 
" What makes you so restless, dear ? Can't you 
find anything to do ? " 

"Oh, Mama," said Mildred, "won't you 
please let us have the play ? I wish you 
would." 

"No, Mildred; really, I don't think that I 
can," said Mrs. Fairleigh. " There are many 
objections which I could not explain to Charlie 
and Leslie, but I thought that you would un- 
derstand. And now that I have considered it 
more fully, I am quite sure that it is best for 
me not to give my consent." 

" Do you mean that we cannot have it at 
all ? " asked Mildred, dolefully. 

" Yes," said her mother. " I don't know that 
I should altogether have approved of it at any 
time ; but just at present it is impossible to have 
children use the attic for such a purpose." 

" Oh, Mama," said Mildred, " I think you 
might! You never let me do anything that 
other children do ! " 

" Don't I, dear ? " said her mother. 

" No," said Mildred, " you don't; and I think 
you 're real unkind ! " 

Mrs. Fairleigh made no reply to this, but 
took up the book she had been reading when 
Mildred came in. 

Mildred felt the reproach of her mother's 
manner, and was really a little frightened and 
remorseful for what she had said. But some 
evil influence induced her to face it out and 
pretend that she did not care. She tried to 
justify herself by talking, saying, " You know I 
never played in theatricals. Mama; and Char- 
lie says I can, and I want to so much. We 
would n't bother anybody, 'cause there 's no- 
body ever goes into the attic, and — and — and 
you said I might have it for a play-room, all to 
myself Don't you remember you did ? " 

Still her mother made no reply. And Mil- 
dred stood there and looked at her, feehng 
very uncomfortable. At one moment she had 
almost made up her mind to say that she was 
sorry for having spoken so ungraciously, and 
that she did not mean it ; but the next moment 
the recollection of her disappointment and the 'i 
desire to show her resentment overcame the 
better impulse. And while this battle was go- 
ing on in her heart, Eliza came in on some 



1892.] 



TWO GIRLS AND A BOY. 



359 



household errand which called her mother 
away, and the opportunity was lost. 

Then Mildred, feeling altogether dissatisfied 
and unhappy, went to the window and stood 
there looking out at the drizzling rain that had 
begun to fall in the dull twilight of the No- 
vember afternoon. There was nothing very 
cheerful in the sight of an occasional umbrella, 
or the smoking cab-horses and the wet drivers 
going by; and after she had watched the lamp- 
lighter hurrying along the pavement, marking 
his progress with little misty blurs of yellow 
light which were finally lost in the distance, 
she turned away and went down-stairs into the 
kitchen. 

Now, Mildred knew very well that she ought 
not to go into the kitchen, as Amanda was busy 
preparing dinner; but at that moment she felt 
in the humor to do what she ought not to do. 
Besides, it seemed the most inviting place just 
then, and she wanted Amanda to sympathize 
with her in her disappointment. But, unfor- 
tunately, Amanda was late with her dinner, and 
consequently w^as what she herself would have 
called " mighty hard driven." She had the 
oven doors open, basting a roast of lamb which 
obstinately refused to take on that rich, golden 
crispiness on which Amanda prided herself; and 
when Mildred came into the kitchen, she looked 
at her sharply over the rims of her big silver 
spectacles, and said, " Wat is it, honey, — w'at 
you want ? " 

" I don't want anything," said Mildred. " I 
just want to stay in here a minute ; I 'm cold." 
" Well, dere 's a fire in you' ma's settin'-room, 
an' anodder in de lib'ary, an' dose de bestest 
places fer white chillun to go to git warm," said 
Amanda, turning to the roast and pouring the 
brown gravy over it with her big iron spoon. 

" What is there for dinner ? " said Mildred, 
])eeping over her shouUler into the oven. 

" Now, Miss Milly," said Amanda ])eevishly, 
" dere you are, you see, bodderin' me when 
1 'm clean flustratcd to death wid de dinner 
bein' late ! An' you know how it vexes you' 
l)a ef de dinner ain't ready at de '.\act time. 
You 'd better run 'long, I tell you; you' ole 
mammy 's cross. Run away, dat 's a good 
chile." And Amanda, closing the oven doors, 
bustled off to other matters. 



" I don't care! " said Mildred. " If you won't 
tell me, I can see for myself." And as soon as 
Amanda's back was turned she Hfted the lid of 
one of the pots. But a puff of hot steam came 
up about her hand and starded her so that 
she dropped the lid ; and in trying to catch it 
she touched the stove with her wrist and was 
burned. 

" De great zookity zook ! " cried Amanda, 
facing around at the clatter of tin and iron, 
" what you gone an' done now ? 1 tell you, 
Miss Milly, ef you don't go out o' dis yere 
kitchen, I '11 call you' ma, sure ! " 

"I 'vg — burnt — my — hand!" said Mildred, 
trying to overcome a strong desire to cry, as 
she held the injured wrist to her mouth and 
looked at Amanda reproachfully through her 
tears. 

"Well, den, it sarves you mighty near right 
fer mussin' an' meddlin' wid de stove, w'en 
you ain't got no business in de kitchin, at all. 
I tell you you 'd better go 'long befo' I call 
you' ma ! " 

Evidendy Amanda was really angry, and 
Mildred, who did not at all want to have her 
mother appealed to just at this time, exclaimed, 
" You 're just as hateful as you can be ! " and 
went out, banging the door after her. 

Going up-stairs in a worse humor than when 
she came down, Mildred went to her own 
room, and sat there, and nursed her wrist and 
tried to make herself believe that it was a very 
much more serious burn than it really was, and 
that nobody had any sympathy for her. If it 
should " prove to be dangerous," so that she 
should be " sick in bed, and maybe die," then 
she guessed they would '* all be sorrj- for being 
so unkind '. " And she lighted the gas and ex- 
amined her wrist very closely, rather hoping that 
the burn was beginning to look alarming. But 
although she hcKl it very close to the light, she 
could not make sure exactly where the burn 
was, so that at last she had to give up that 
source of consolation. Then she did not know 
what to do with herself Dinner would not be 
ready for some time, ami she did not want to go 
down-stairs imtil it was ready. 

This twilight hour was usually one of the hap- 
piest in her twenty-four, for she generally spent 
it sitting at her mother's knee looking at the 



36o 



TWO GIRLS AND A BOY. 



[Mar. 



fire and talking over what had happened dur- 
ing the day. In fact the impulse to go down 
into her mother's sitting-room, now, was so 
strong that Mildred found it very hard to re- 
sist. But she did resist it. She told herself 
that she was very much ill-used and wronged, 
and that she would stay all by herself, in her 
own room. She rather expected that some one 
would come for her, but no one came, and 
after a while Mildred began to feel that staying 
all by herself with nothing to do was not very 
pleasant. 

Then suddenly she remembered the tidy that 
she was making for her mother's Christmas 
gift. That, indeed, was a happy thought. She 
could accomplish a great deal on that before 
dinner, so she brought it out and started to 
work. But for some reason she found that 
the rather complicated pattern, which had al- 
ways required a great deal of patience, was 
unusually troublesome and vexatious. When 
she tried to draw the threads the material puck- 
ered up and the thread broke; and in mak- 
ing the stitches she was annoyed to find, after a 
great deal of labor, that in some places she had 
taken up three or five instead of four. But Mil- 
dred, with a deep frown upon her brows and a 
pout upon her lips, persisted obstinately. When 
the threads failed to come out easily, she jerked 
them and picked at them with her needle ; and 
as for the stitches, she told herself that she was 
doing the best she could and that they would 
have to do. The result was that when the 
dinner-bell rang, her cherished tidy, which had 
depended on its neatness and precision for its 
beauty, looked botched and spoiled, and she 
herself was completely tired out. 

Then Mildred threw down the work, and her 
eyes once more filled with tears. Everything 
seemed to go wrong with her that afternoon. 
She laid herself down on the bed and hid her 
face in the pillow, feeling very unhappy. Pres- 
ently the door opened and Eliza came in. 

" Miss Mildr'd," she said, " you' ma wants 
to know why you don't come down to dinner." 

" I don't want any dinner," cried Mildred 
from the depths of the pillow. 

"Why, Miss Milly," said Eliza in a gender 
voice, coming to her side, " w'at 's the mattah ? 
Wat you cry in' fer ? " 



But Mildred did not answer her, and Eliza, 
who, as I have said, was really good-hearted, 
although she did not always seem so, put her 
arm around her, and lifted her up, and said, 
" Tell Eliza, honey, w'at 's the mattah ? " 

Then Mildred, swallowing the lump in her 
throat, managed to say, " Nothing. I — I — 
spoiled the tidy I was making for Christmas." 

" Oh, pshaw ! " said Eliza, taking up the tidy 
and looking at it. " Is that all ? Why, bless 
you' heart, Miss Milly, I kin fix that fer you in 
no time ! I kin take them last stitches out easy, 
an' run a hot iron over this yere puckerin' so 's 
it '11 look jest as good as ever it was. Come, 
now, jump up an' wash you' face, like a good 
girl, an' come down-sta'rs. You' pa 's askin' 
fer you. An' Mandy she 's fixed up one o' 
them little ras'berry tarts fer you, that you like 
so well, with a M on it, 'deed she has. An' 
w'en I went into the kitchen fer to serve the 
soup, she asked me if you was at the table, an' 
w'en I said no, she tol' me to go tell you 
'bout the tart." 

Then Mildred, feeling that this was a peace- 
offering from Amanda at least, reluctantly got 
up, and with Eliza's help was soon ready to go 
down-stairs. When she went into the dining- 
room her mother looked at her, but made no 
reference to her absence, while her father sim- 
ply said, " Well, young lady, you are late." 

Mildred was not hungry and neglected the 
dinner, although when Amanda's tart came on 
she ate it all, partly to let Amanda see that she 
forgave her, but mainly because it was good. 

As it was Saturday evening, Mildred, after 
dinner, had to prepare her lessons for Monday. 
She was permitted to bring her books into the 
library, where her father and mother usually sat 
in the evening, her father in his big leather- 
covered easy-chair, reading by the soft light of 
a lamp, her mother on the other side of the 
fireplace, reading sometimes, and sometimes 
engaged on a piece of fancy work, but at all 
times ready to help Mildred with her lessons. 

But this evening her mother did not offer to 
assist her, although Mildred found her lessons 
particularly hard to learn. In fact she was not 
in the frame of mind for studying. Although 
by this time she had recovered from her disap- 
pointment at not being allowed to have theat- 



1892.1 



TWO GIRLS AND A ROY 



361 



ricals in the attic, the shadow of the cloud be- 
tween herself and her mother still darkened 
her thoughts and interfered with her studies. 

Every few minutes her gaze kept wandering 
to where her mother sat, with her soft brown eyes 
fixed upon her sewing. She began to think 
that one smile from those dear lips was worth 
more than any other pleasure on earth. She 
was beginning to hate theatricals, and, more 
unreasonably, she was beginning to feel dis. 



nothing but trouble, at least she would show the 
world that she could endure it. And so, with- 
out asking to be allowed to sit up later, she 
proudly kissed her father and mother good- 
night, and went silently to her room. NN'hen at 
last she was in bed she could not go to sleep, 
but lay there brooding over the events of the 
afternoon. It was her habit to leave her light 
burning, and, later, her mother would come 
up and see that she was safe and warm, and 




'OH. MAMA, MAMA. 1 M SO OLAU THAT VOC 'VE COME ! ' •" 



l)leased and angry with Charlie and Leslie 
for having, innocently, caused her all this un- 
hapi)iness. 

Thinking of these things, Mildred found that 
by the time nine o'cU)ck had arrived she knew 
no more of her lessons than when she had be- 
gun them, ^\'ell. that meant getting up an 
hour or two earlier on Momlay moming. And 
if there was anything that Mildred disliked, it 
was having to get up early those cold, dark 
November mornings, Monday mornings espe- 
cially. Mut she set her lips closely together, 
and made up her mind that if she was to have 



give her a final good-night kiss, before i)Utting 
out the light. Would her mother do this to- 
night ? or was she too greatly ofteniled ? As 
the time passed by it seemed to Mildred as it 
she was not coming, and, for all her heroic de- 
termination to enilure the worst that might 
befall her, she felt that .she could not bear this 
last stroke. .\ tlozen times she started up in 
bed to listen anxiously as she heard a distant 
door close or a footfiill on the steps, and each 
time she sank back di.sai)pointed. At last, when, 
feverish and excited, she had made up her mind 
to get up and go down-.stairs to seek her mother, 



362 



TWO GIRLS AND A BOY. 



[Mak. 



she finally did hear the well-known rusding of 
skirts at the door, and her mother entered the 
room. Then, forgetting all about her pride and 
anger of the preceding hours, Mildred stretched 
out her arms and cried tearfully, " Oh, Mama, 
Mama, I 'm so glad that you 've come ! " 

" Are you, Mildred ? " said her mother, seat- 
ing herself on the side of the bed. 

'' Oh, yes, Mama," said Mildred, looking 
very earnestly into her mother's eyes. " And I 
am sorry for what I said this afternoon — just 
as sorry as 1 can be ! " 

" And you don't think," said her mother, 
" that I am unkind, or that I don't try to give 
you as much pleasure as other children have ? " 

" Oh, no, no, no ! " cried Mildred, two tears 
escaping from her full eyes, and rolling down 
her cheeks, " I did n't mean it, I was just hor- 
rid ! You know I did n't mean it ! " 

Then her mother put Mildred's arms around 
her neck and said, " Yes, I know it, dear. It 
hurt me this afternoon to have you say what 
you did, but I knew that little girls and even 
grown-up people, when they lose their temper, 
sometimes hastily say things they do not mean. 
And I was ready to forgive you for it. But I 
was disappointed when my little girl did not 
come to say that she was sorry." 

" Oh, Mama," said Mildred, " I was just 
hateful, that was all ! I don't know what got 
into me." 

And she told her mother all that had hap- 
pened : how she had made Amanda angry by 
going into the kitchen, and had burned herself 
on the stove, and had spoiled a piece of work 
that she was making (she did not say for whom), 
and had failed to get her lessons ; " and every- 
thing," she concluded, "seemed to go wrong." 

" Shall I tell you what it reminds me of? " 
said her mother, as she stroked the curly head. 
" It reminds me of when you were very little, 
and got a splinter in your finger. If you came 
to me bravely and had it out right away, it 
gave no more trouble; but if you lacked the 
courage and let it stay in, it festered and be- 
came very sore, and the longer it stayed the 
sorer the finger became, and the harder it was 
to get the splinter out. But now," she added 
affectionately, patting Mildred's cheek, " I think 
all of the sphnter is out, is n't it ? " 



And Mildred, quite happy once more, laughed 
and nodded her head, and kissed her mother 
good-night ; and when the gas was turned out, 
she lay there with so contented a heart that al- 
most before her mother had left the room, her 
eyelids closed and she was asleep and dreaming. 

Chapter VI. 

When the Loring Seminary omnibus, on its 
rounds to gather up the day-scholars, stopped 
in front of the Fairleigh mansion Monday 
morning, Leslie Morton leaned out as far as 
she dared, and beckoned to Mildred, who was 
at the parlor window, to hurry. Wondering 
what made Leslie so eager to speak to her, 
Mildred quickly climbed into the omnibus. 
Then Leslie made room for her by her side, 
and, with a face full of importance, exclaimed, 
" Oh, Dreddy, what do you think ! " 

" I don't know," said Mildred, with great 
interest. " What is it ? " 

" I 've got just the best news you ever heard 
of! " cried LesHe, clapping her hands softly. 

" Have you ? " said Mildred. " Tell me ! " 

" Promise you won't tell," said Leslie ex- 
citedly, " 'cause it 's a secret." 

" May n't I tell mama ? " said Mildred. 

" Oh, of course," said Leshe, laughing, " you 
may tell your mother ; but not any of the girls." 

"All right," said Mildred; " I won't." 

" Well," said Leshe, taking in a long breath, 
and whispering the rest of it, " ma 's going to 
give me a party Christmas week ! " 

" Is she ? " said Mildred, joyfully. 

" Yes," said Leslie, laughing. " Won't that 
be fine ? And I 'm going to invite you and 
Mabel Hensly and Carrie Wilkins, and, oh ! 
ever so many of the girls — only, you must n't 
tell any of them yet. But that is n't all; 
there 's something else. You 'd never guess in the 
world ! " 

*' What ? " asked Mildred, opening her eyes 
very wide. " Is it that secret that you and 
Charlie had about me, up in the attic ? " 

" No," rephed Leslie, disdainfully ; " that 's 
Charlie's secret. No, you 'd never guess this. 
We 're going to get up a play, and act it the 
night of the party ! " 

" Are you ? " cried Mildred, staring at Leslie, 
quite overcome by the extent of this information. 



i892.] 



TWO GIRLS AND A BOY. 



36 



"Yes, yes; a real play!" continued Leslie, very 
energetically, and speaking as fast as she could. 
" Ma said we might. It all happened like this : 
You know we were talking about Christmas at 
your house the other day, and, when we went 
home, I told ma that I did n't beheve I 'd 
have a good time this Christmas, at all — not 
as we have in garrison. And ma said that if 
I was a good girl, and studied hard, and got a 
good report from Miss Snell, maybe she would 
let me have a little party during Christmas 
week. And then Charlie said why could n't 
we have a play too, 'cause we had been talking 
about it, don't you know. And ma said that 
would be too much bother, and she would n't 
listen to it for a long time. But Charlie said 
it could be just a little play, and he would fix 
it all himself. And he talked about the old- 
fashioned things over at your house that he 
thought your mother would lend us, said that 
we would powder our hair, and all that, and 
after a while he coa.xed ma into saying that 
she'd think about 
it. And after the 
play we 're going 
to have dancing, 
and after that a 
supper, some ice- 
cream and oysters . 
and cake and , 
lemonade, and 
lots of other good 
things — are n't 
you glad?" con- 
cluded Leslie, out 
of breath. 

" Yes, indeed ! " 
sparkling 



there 's Mabel, now!" made that young lady, 
when she got in, sit down on the other side, 
and, rather to Mildred's surprise, proceeded to 
tell her, too, all about the party. " She won't 
tell anybody," Leslie explained to Mildred. It 
would not have made much difference if she 
had told, for before the day was over Leslie 
had confided the secret to every girl in school. 
As for Mildred, she was so much occupied 
with wondering what Mrs. Morton would say 
to her mother about the party and the play, 
and what her mother would reply, that her les- 
sons rather suffered, especially as she had not 
got up quite so early that morning to study 
them as she had intended. It was Mildred's 
custom to take her lunch to school, so that she 
usually did not go home until afternoon. As 
soon as she was in the house, however, she 
went to her mother's room, and, not finding her 
there, discovered that she was in the parlor 
entertaining a visitor. Seeking Eliza, Mildred 
learned that the visitor was actually Mrs. Mor- 



^s ^^^ i^ 






II. j^n4^JTT^, i Jf' 



IlliUVl' 




THE LORING SEMINARY OMNIBVS. 



said Mildred, her eyes 
" But," she added more thought- 
fully, "shall I — do you wish me to act?" 

"Of course," said Leslie; "Charlie said that 
you must." 

" But I don't believe that mama will let me," 
said Mildred. 

"Oh, yes, she will," replied Leslie, confi- 
dently. " Ma 's going over to see your mother 
to-day to talk it over with her." 

" Is she?" said .Mildred. 

This was a piece of news indeed. 

Just then the omnibus stopped at Mabel 
Hensly's house, and Leslie, exclaiming, "Oh. 



ton. It was with the greatest impatience that 
Mildred waited for the lady to depart: but when 
she did go, Mildreil was almost afraid to go to 
her mother to lenm the result. She was quite 
sure that her mother would not let her act, but 
would she let her go to the party ? .\t any 
rate, she was determined that, whichever way 
her mother decided, she would not again be 
ill-tempered, but would show that .she cared 
more for her good opinion than anything else. 
Only, she did hope that she would be allowed 
to go to the party — and, oh! if her mother 
only would let her act! 

Mildred tried to be as calm and quiet as pos- 



3^4 



TWO GIRLS AND A BOY. 



[Mar. 



sible when she went into her mother's room, 
and fortunately her patience was not tried very- 
long. Her mother asked her one or two ques- 
tions about school matters, and then said, " I 
suppose that Leslie has told you that her mama 
is going to give her a little party ? " 

" Yes," said Mildred, eagerly. 

" Would you like to go? " asked her mother. 

" Oh, yes, indeed, Mama; ever so much! " 

"Very well," said her mother; "I don't see 
any reason why you should not, although it is a 
long time before to be making promises." 

" Oh, thank you ! " cried Mildred, dancing 
about her mother's chair. 

" Mrs. Morton was here this afternoon," con- 
tinued Mrs. Fairleigh, " and she told me that 
CharUe still wished to have a play." 

At this Mildred stopped short and listened. 

" I did not tell Mrs. Morton that he had 
spoken to me about it," said her mother, " be- 
cause I did not think it necessary to explain to 
her my reasons for not wishing you to enter into 
such an undertaking. But you are getting to 
be a big girl now, dear, and I think that per- 
haps it is better that you should begin to under- 
stand such matters yourself, and help me by 
exercising your own reason and judgment. 
You know, or at least you ought to know, that 
papa's health is the very first thought that I 
have, and everything must be looked at with 
that in view. And you know that any unusual 
noise or excitement in the house is bad for him. 
Now, it is for you and me to guard him against 
the possibility of suffering. I have taken part in 
private theatricals, and I know all about them. 
I know that if you were to have a play in the 
attic, there would be more or less hammering 
and pulling things about, and coming to me for 
this, and to Eliza for that, and there would be 
running up and down stairs ; all of which would 
be bad for papa. We could not buy such 
pleasure for ourselves at the cost of one day's 
sickness to him, could we, dear ? " 

And Mildred promptly shook her head. 

"So it is necessary for you and me to think 
of all these things, and take care that he does 
not run any such risks." 

And Mildred nodded her head this time in 
assent, and said gravely, though with a happy 
expression, " Of course, Mama, I ought to have 



thought of that." It pleased her to be taken 
into her mother's confidence and to become 
her partner, as it were, in the business of caring 
for her father. 

" So that in itself," continued Mrs. Fairleigh, 
"was enough to decide me against Charlie's 
plan. But there was more. If we gave the 
entertainment in our house, we should have to 
invite all of your friends to see it." 

" Should we ? " said Mildred, opening her 
eyes. " Charlie said we would ask only a few." 

" If we invited any one at all," said her 
mother, " we should have to ask every one. 
Otherwise, those whom you did not ask would 
feel disappointed, and some even might think 
that you had slighted them on purpose, and 
would feel hurt. To do that would not be po- 
lite or kind. Now, if we invited all of your 
friends, we should have to entertain them prop- 
erly ; we should have to provide music and a 
supper. In other words, the theatricals would 
gradually grow into a regular party. Experi- 
ence has taught me that, time and time again. 
Now, apart from considerations of papa's health, 
we cannot afford to give a party this Christmas. 
If we had plenty of money, it would be very 
pleasant to entertain our friends; but to attempt 
to do so when we have not the money would 
be worse than silly. I — and I am sure that you, 
too — would rather spend what Httle money we 
can spare in making a few poor people happy. 
Don't you think that it would be pleasanter to 
give old lame Joe a turkey for his Christmas 
dinner, and hear him chuckle and say, ' Thank 
you, ma'am ; Miss Milly, de good Lord bress 
you, honey ; de ole woman an' de chillun '11 be 
powerful pleased to see dis yere bird, dey will 
dat ! ' than to watch Mademoiselle Jones, in her 
lace frock, eating ice-cream ? " 

Her mother imitated old Joe so cleverly, and 
said all this so funnily, that Mildred laughed 
and said, " Of course I would." 

" I think it would give you more pleasure," 
said her mother, smiling. " Then there is poor 
old rheumatic Mrs. Trummle, who has to have 
her winter's supply of flannel, and the Wakely 
children to be made happy with a little Christ- 
mas cheer, not to mention the societies to which 
you and I belong — the 'Children's Aid So- 
ciety,' and the ' Women's Mission,' which 



I892.J 



TWO (^IRI.S AND A UOV. 



3^5 

have a use for all that we can give. And ton wanted to know if 1 would let you take 

finally, Sweetheart, if I have not already tired part. But that I could not promise her." 

you with this long list of reasons, I was afraid Here Mildred's face lengthened. 

tliat if you were to get interested in theatricals "Not that I have any especial objection to 

in your own play-room, it would upset all of your playing in parlor theatricals," concluded 

your regular habits of study and amusement. Mrs. Fairleigh ; "but it is all so uncertain that 

So now )OU see 

why I decided 

against Charlie's 

request." - 

"Of course, 
Mama,"saidMil- _j 
dred, feeling as 
if she had grown 
quite old and was 
being consulted 
on a very impor- 
tant family mat- 
ter; " it never 
would have done 
at all. Don't you 
know, just as soon 
as Charlie spoke 
about it, I some- 
how felt that it 
would n't do, 
though I did n't 
know wii), e\- 
actl>. I guess 
that w as because 
I did n't think." 
" Perhaps so," 
said her mother. 
" Hut now 
seems that Mas- 
ter C:harlie has begge.l his mother to allow him 1 iliink it would be better to wait and see what 
to have the theatricals at their own home on kind of a play Master Charlie is going to have, 
the evening of the party. Mrs. .Morton talked before you promise to take i)art in it. 'i'here is 
to me a little doubifuUv alK)ui it. but of course plenty of time, and it is never well (or a little 
I did not try to inlluence her one way or the girl to be too ready and eager to join in a thing 
other; and when she spoke of our having some of this sort as soon as she is asked, and wiih- 
things that Charlie wanted to borrow, I said that out knowing what it is to be like. Dc^Vt you 
1 would be very glad indeed 10 lend the children agree with me, dear?"' 

anvthing we had that would be of use." " Why, yes. Mama, I suppose so." said M1I- 

'•Di.i you?" said Mildred, looking very dred, slowly. Then she raised her downcast 

nnu h plea>ed. face, smiled, and throwing her arms around her 

'• Ves." said her mother; '• 1 am quite willing mother's neck, cried. - Really anil truly 1 do. 

to help them all that I can. Then Mrs. Mor- Mama." 

(7"i> f^ coHlinue-f ) 




It "LKSLIE MAl.K KOOM FOK Mll.DREI., ANP, WITH A FACE F<U. «;>F; IMIt.RTANCK, KXCLAIMEO. 

'on, UKEDOV, WHAT DO YOf THINK. 



THE SEALS' CRYSTAL PALACE. 




By John R. Coryell. 



ARK ! Cr-aa-sh, 

boom-m, splash ! 
With a sound 
like twenty thun- 
derclaps com- 
bined, the end of 
a glacier has bro- 
ken off; a moun- 
tain of ice has been 
launched into the sea 
with a resounding splash, 
making rings of mighty 

waves that chase each 

'^^^^^^^^^^^M other away from it; an 

iceberg has been set free 
to go on its travels into the melting south. 

A glittering mass of transparent blue, lifting 
its rainbow-crowned peak majestically two hun- 
dred feet toward the clouds and plowing the 
ocean to a depth of nearly one thousand five 
hundred feet. Four such ice-mountains placed 
side by side would cover a mile of distance. 

And yet, massive as it is, the restless, ever- 
moving, yielding waters dauntlessly attack it. 
They scoop out a cavern here and a tunnel 
there, they melt it into fantastic shapes, they 
snatch off huge blocks, until the proud ice- 
mountain humbly bends its head, totters and 
surges, snaps in twain, plunges into the ocean, 
and looms up again made over into two weird, 
towering, grotesque monsters nodding defiance 
to each other over the foam-covered waves. 

Perhaps they hurl themselves against each 
other with a crunch and a crash, and then sul- 
lenly retire, each to go its own way and fulfil 
its own mission of shipwreck, or silent melting 
away into the unmeasured volume of the ocean. 
Once it happened that one of these wander- 
ing ice-mountains was so ingeniously shaped 
by the warm waves that, when it snapped in 
the middle and fell over on its side, one portion 
of it rose with the honeycombed part toward 



the water, thus making the iceberg an ice pal- 
ace filled with many a crystal grotto which, 
rising story upon story, stage upon stage, con- 
verted the translucent mountain into a floating 
crystal palace with transparent walls. 

It would have been a pity if such a gorgeous 
palace had passed away, with never an in- 
habitant to profit by its existence, and so it was 
fortunate that it was discovered by a troop of 
seals migrating southward. 

The seals might just as well have swarmed 
over the outside of the iceberg, as they had 
often done in previous cases ; but possibly they 
recognized the advantages of having a roof 
over their heads, and consequently dived down 
and came up inside of the crystal palace. 
Anyhow, whatever their reasons, that is what 
they did. 

By hundreds and by thousands they clam- 
bered up the irregular inner walls, occupying 
the grottoes and ledges till the palace was 
crowded to its full capacity with the noisy, ac- 
tive creatures. 

They might easily have been uncomfortable 
in their splendid palace had not accident come 
to their relief The warm air from their bodies 
and their warm breath rose to the top of the 
iceberg and fortunately found thin spots in the 
roof and melted holes, so that places of escape 
for the bad air were made. 

Of course this air, being warm, no sooner 
reached the colder atmosphere outside than it 
condensed like steam and rose, a white col- 
umn, above the palace, looking very much like 
smoke. 

Indeed, a sailing vessel passing that way 
thought it was smoke, and the captain changed 
his course to go nearer the iceberg, hoping to 
save the lives of some shipwrecked sailors, who, 
he supposed, had built a fire on the berg. 

Fancy your own astonishment at coming 
upon a crystal palace in mid-ocean, inhabited 



366 



THE SEALS CRYSTAL PALACE. 



167 



by thousands of seals, and you may then un- 
derstand how the captain and his crew felt 
when, looking through the clear walls of the 
stately structure, they saw the countless ani- 
mals in conscious security playing or sleeping 
in the fairy-like chambers. 

The captain bewailed his lot that there were 



twenty thousand dollars' worth of sealskins in 
sight, but out of reach ! 

It was disappointing for the captain, but it 
was tolerably comfortable for the seals, who 
take more interest in sealskins when they wear 
them than when human beings make coats of 
them. 





r r c I A®fTWi ¥fipi t: 



By Joaquin Miller. 



old Scotch shepherd 
with a tale 

Of crofter strife, heartbroken wife; 

A barefoot girl sad-eyed and pale; 

A dog, a gun, a buckhorn knife; 

With garments torn, with face unshorn 

And all his better life outworn. 

But then his fond white flock of sheep 

Where still Tulare's waters creep : 



But sudden came the rich and strong — 
The old, old tale of cruel wrong. 

" I '11 have his lands," the rich man cried. 
" His lands are broad as his Scotch brogue — 

That 's saying they are broad and wide. 

I '11 have his lands ! He calls me rogue. 

Out, out! — away! I will not spare 

One drop from that deep river there. 



Fair, level water, willow-lined. 
The one loved stream in all that land ! 
You should have seen it wind and wind 
Through unfenced seas of loam and sand 
Long years ago, with here and there 
A pack of wolves, a waiting bear, 
When this stout-hearted, lorn old man 
Kept flock as only Scotchmen can ! 



And, banished so, they sadly turned, 
The barefoot lass, the bent old man, 
To where the barren desert burned — 
His dog, his gun, a water-can; 
His white flock bleating on before 
All loath to leave the watered shore; 
His dog with drooping tail and ears; 
His barefoot, tattered child in tears. 



And how he loved Tulare's bank, 

And planned to buy, and build, and rest, 

The while his white flock fed and drank. 

Aye he had thrift and of the best. 

And back, where no rich man laid hands. 

Had bought and bought wide desert lands. 



They found a rounded mound not far. 
That rose above the sage and sand. 
Where one green willow, like a star 
In some dark night, stood lone and grand. 
And here the can and gun were swung ; 



In grief as when lorn Israel hun 



368 



ARTESIA OF TULARE. 



69 



Her harp on willow-tree and kept 
Sad silence as she sat and wept. 
The dog crouched fretful at their feet; 
The woolly fold crept close with fear, 



The dog sprang up, his eyes aflame, 
And all his frame did quiver so ! 
Then like a shot right down he sped, . . . 
Crept back all blood and fell down dead. 




" NO MOKE SHK WKIT, 
Bl'T WATCHF.n, THE XVllll.E TIIK SHEfllliKU SLKI'T." 



And one meek lamb did bleat and bleat. 
So pitiful, so sadly drear, 
Tiie girl ( rept from the bowed old man, 
Reached up and took the water-can. 
And gave it water while he slept. 
The while she silent we{)t an<l wept. 
Then came gaunt wolves — all sudden came - 
And sat in circle close below ! 
Vol.. \1X.— 24. 



She snatchetl the gun. NO more she wept. 
Hut watched, the while the shepherd slept. 

'Ihen came the moon. \'ast peaks of snow 
Flashed silver from Sierra's height, 
.•\nd lit the lonely scene below 
.\s if with some unearthly light — 
.\ light that only made a gloom 



0/ 



o 



ARTESIA OF TULARE. 



'Mid silence, space, and shoreless room. 
Why, all that moonlit scene but seemed 
Such as half-maddened men have dreamed. 

At last the sun burst like a flame, 
And shaggy wolves fled from the light. 
Then wide-eyed, wondering rabbits came 
And stood in circle left and right. 
They stood so graceful, trim, and tall, 
You might have guessed this was a ball 
Where dainty dancers, slim and neat. 
Stood waiting with imjjatient feet. 

The old man wakened. Why, his fold 
Had crept so close ere break of morn 
That he reached out and there laid hold 
Of his huge ram by one curled horn! 
But then the dog ! Ah, there were tears ! 
He scarce had v/ept for years and years. 
But now it seemed his heart would break 
In sorrow for that dead brute's sake. 

He said no word, but silent took 
In his broad, heavy, honest hand 
His long, strong, steel-shod shepherd's crook 
And digged a deep grave in the sand. 
But why so eager now ? so wild ? 
He turns, he catches up his child : 
'• My bairn, my bairn, my eyes are dim ; 
But bide ye, bide, and trust in Him 

.\way he sped; and soon he brought 
From some old camp a long black rod 
On his bent back. Then, as he wrought, 
She thought of Moses; prayed to God 
That water for the thirsting flock 
Might flow as from the smitten rock. 
And save her father — save him sane 
There in that fearful desert plain. 



He forced the black tube through the sod 
Beneath the waving willow-tree 
With giant's strength. Then, as if God 
Decreed, it sank, sank swift and free — 
Sank sudden through the slime and sand. 
Sank deep, slid swift, slid from his hand ! 
Then he sprang up, aghast and dazed 
And piteous, as if sudden crazed. 

He caught his gun ; he madly wrenched 
The barrels out and thrust them down ; 
And then he fell, fell drenched, fell drenched 
With floods that leaped as if to drown ! 
And all Tulare came there to drink. 
As happy-faced as you can think. 




WHEN I WAS YOUR ACxE. 



Bv Lauka 1". Richards. 



{Begun ill the Jaiiunry number. ^ 

Chapter IV. 

THK VALLEY. 

The time of our summer flitting varied. 
Sometimes we stayed at Green Peace till after 
strawberry-time, and lingered late at the Val- 
ley ; sometimes we went early, and came back 
in time for the peaches. But in one month or 
another there came a season of great business 
and bustle. Woolen dresses were put away in 
the great cedar-lined camphor-chests studded 
with brass nails; calico dresses were length- 
ened, and joyfully assumed ; trunks were 
packed, and boxes and barrels; carpets were 
taken up and laid away; and white covers were 
put over pictures and mirrors. Finally we de- 
parted, generally in more or less confusion. 

I remember one occasion when our rear column 
reached the Old Colony station just as the train 
was starting. The advance-guard, consisting of 
our mother and the older children, was already 
on board, and Harry and Laura have a vivid 
recollection of being caught up by our father 
and tumbled into the moving baggage-car, he 
flashing in after us, and all sitting on trunks, 
panting, till we were sufticiently revived to pass 
through to our seats in the passenger-car. In 
those days the railway went no farther than 
Fall River. From tliere we must take a car- 
riage and drive twelve miles to our homo in 
the Island of Rest. Twelve long and weary 
miles they were, iiiu( h dreaded by us all. The 
trij) was made in a large oKl-fashioned vehicle, 
half hack, half stage. The red cushions were 
hard and uncomfortable; the horses were ageil ; 
tlieir driver, good, snuff-colored Mr. Anthony, 
felt keenly his duty to spare them, and consid- 
ered the passengers a minor affair. So we five 
children were cramped and cooped up, I know 
not how Ioul;. It seemed hours that we must 
sit there, while the ancient horses crawled up 



the sandy hills, or jogged meditatively along 
the level spaces. Every joint developed a sep- 
arate ache; our legs were cramped — the short 
ones from hanging over the seat, the long ones 
because the floor of the coach was piled with 
baskets and bandboxes. It was hot, hot I The 
flies buzzed, and would not let one go to sleep : 
the dust rolled in thick )ellow clouds from un- 
der the wheels, and filled eyes and mouth, and 
set all a-sneezing. Decidedly, it was a most 
tiresome jaunt. But all the more delightful 
was the arrival ! To dri\e in under the apple- 
trees, just as the evening was falling cool and 
sweet ; to tumble out of the stuflfy prison coach, 
and race through the orchard, and out to the 
barn, and up the hill behind the house — ah I 
that was worth all the miseries of the journey. 

From the hill behind the house we could see 
the sunset ; and that was one thing we did not 
have at Green Peace, shut in by its great trees. 
Here, before our eyes, still aching from the dust 
of the road, lay the great bay, all a sheet of sil- 
ver, with white sails here and there ; beyond it 
Conanicut, a long island, brown in the noon 
liuht, now softened into wonderful shades of 
amethyst and violet ; and the great sun going 
down in a glory of gold and flame. Nowhere 
else are such sunsets ! Sometimes the sky was 
all strewn with fiery flakes ami long delicate 
flame-feathers, glowing with rosy light ; some- 
times there were purple cloud-islands, edgeil 
with crimson, ami between them ami the real 
islantl a space of delicate green, so pure, so 
cold, that there is nothing to compare with it 
save a certain chrysoprase our mother had. 

Gazing at these wonders, the children would 
stand, full of vague delight, not knowing what 
they thought, till the tea-bell summoned them 
to the house for a merry picnic supper. Then 
there was clattering ui)-stairs. washing of hands 
in the great basin with purple grapes on it (it 
belonged in the guest-chamber, and we were 

37« 



^^2 WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE. [Mar. 

not allowed to use it save on special occasions ing up, with the water going " lip ! lap ! " as it 
like this), hasty smoothing of hair and straight- swung to and fro, they came running out, doz- 
ening of collars, and then clatter ! clatter ! down ens and dozens of them, probably thinking 
again. what unreasonable people we were to disturb 

There was nothing remarkable about the them. When the water did finally come, it 

house at the Valley. It was just a pleasant was wonderfully cold, and clear as crystal, 

cottage, with plenty of sunny windows and The hill behind the house was perhaps our 

square, comfortable rooms. But we were sel- favorite play-room. It was a low, rocky hill, 

dom in the house save at meal-times, or when covered with "prostrate juniper " bushes, which 

it rained ; and our real home was under the bore blue berries very useful in our housekeep- 

blue sky. First, there was the orchard ! It ing. At the top of the rise the bare rock 

was an ideal orchard, with the queerest old ap- cropped out, dark gray, covered with flat, dry 

pie-trees that ever were seen. They did not lichens. This was our house. It had several 

bear many apples, but they were delightful to rooms : the drawing-room was really palatial, a 

climb in, with trunks slanting so that one could broad floor of rock, with flights of steps leading 

easily run up them, and branches that curled up to it. The state stairway was used for kings 

round so as to make a comfortable back to lean and queens, conquerors, and the like ; the 

against. There are few pleasanter things than smaller was really more convenient, as the 

to sit in an apple-tree and read poetry, with steps were more sharply defined, and you were 

birds twittering undismayed beside you, and not so apt to fall down them. Then there was the 

green leaves whispering over your head. Laura dining-room rock, where meals were served — 

was generally doing this when she ought to daisy pudding and similar delicacies ; and the 

have been mending her stockings. kitchen rock, which had a real oven, and the 

Then there was the joggling-board, under the most charming cupboards imaginable. Here 

two biggest trees. The delight of a joggling- were stored hollyhock cheeses, and sorrel leaves, 

board is hardly to be explained to children who and twigs of black birch, fragrant and spicy, 

have never known it ; but I trust many children and many other good things, 

do know it. The board is long and smooth and On this hill was celebrated, on the first of 

springy, supported at both ends on stands; and August, the annual festival of " Yeller's Day." 

one can play all sorts of things on it. Many a This custom was begun by Flossy, and adhered 

circus has been held on the board at the Valley ! to for many years. Immediately after breakfast 

We danced the tight-rope on it; we leaped on the appointed day, all the children assem- 

through imaginary rings, coming down on the bled on the top of the hill and yelled. Oh ! 

tips of our toes ; we hopped its whole length on how we yelled ! It was a point of honor to 

one foot; we wriggled along it on our stom- make as much noise as possible. We roared, 

achs, or on our backs ; we bumped along it on and shrieked, and howled, till we were too 

hands and knees. Dear old joggling-board ! it hoarse to make a sound ; then we rested and 

is not probable that any other was ever quite played something else, perhaps, till our voices 

so good as ours. Near by was the pump, a were restored, and then — yelled again ! Yel- 

never-failing wonder to us when we were little, ler's Day was regarded as one of the great days 

The well over which it stood was very deep, of the summer. By afternoon we were gener- 

and it took a long time to bring the bucket up. ally quite exhausted, and we were hoarse for 

It was a chain-pump, and the chain went rat- several days afterward. I cannot recommend 

tlety-clank ! rattlety-clank ! round and round, this practice. In fact, I sincerely hope that no 

and the handle creaked and groaned, " Ah-//<7 / child will attempt to introduce it ; for it is very 

ah-//^ / " When you had turned a good while bad for the voice, and might in some cases do 

there came out of the spout a stream of — real injury. 

water? No! of daddy-long-legses ! They lived, Almost every morning we went down to the 

apparently, in the spout, and they did not like bay to bathe. It was a walk of nearly a mile 

the water; so when they heard the bucket com- through the fields — such a pleasant walk! The 



1892.] 



WIIExN I WAS YOUR AGE. 



0/0 



fields were not green, but of a soft russet, the was of fine white sand, sparkling as if mixed 
grass being thin and dry, with great quantities with diamond dust. Starfish crawled about on 
of a little pinkish fuzzy plant whose name we it, and other creatures; crabs, too, sometimes, 
never knew. They were divided by stone walls, that would nip an unwary toe if they got a 
which we were skilful in climbing. In some chance. Sometimes the water was full of jelly- 
places there were bars which must be let down, fish, which we did not like, in spite of their 
or climbed over, or crawled through, as fancy beauty. Beyond the white sand was a bed of 
suggested. There were many blackberries, of eel-grass, very dreadful, not to be approached, 
the low-bush variety, bearing great clusters of If a person went into it, he was instantly seized 

and entangled, and 
drowned before 
the eyes of his com- 
panions. This was 
our firm belief It 
was probably part- 
ly due to Ander- 
sen's story about 
the "Little Sea- 
Maid," which had 
made a deep im- 
pression on us all, 
with its clutching 
polyps and other 
submarine terrors. 
We all learned 
to swim more or 
less, but Flossy 
was the best swim- 
mer. 

Sometimes we 
went to bathe in 
the afternoon in- 
stead of the morn- 













- '^U-' 



Vt 



. AM,* 




'^■■t il 



#''' 



THE CELEBRATION OF 



' YELLER S DAY. 



berries, glossy, beautiful, delicious. We were 
not allowed to eat thcin on the way down, but 
only when coming home. Some of these fiekls 
belonged to the Cross Farmer, who had once 
been rude 10 us. We regardeil him as a man- 
ner of demon, and were always looking around 
to see if his round-shouldered, blue-shirted figure 
were in sight. .At last the shore was reacheil, 
and soon we were all in the clear water, shriek- 
ing with delight, i)addling about, puffing and 
blowing like a school of young porpoises. 

At high tide the beach was ])ebbled ; at low 
tide we went far out, the ground sloping very 
gradually, to a delightful place where the bottom 



ing, if the title 
suited better. I re- 
member one such 
time when we came delightfully near having 
an adventure. It was full moon, and the tide 
was verv hisili. We luid loitered alontr the 
beach after our bath, gathering mussels to boil 
for tea, jiicking up gold-shells or scallop-shells, 
and punching seaweed bladilers. which pop 
I harmingly if you do them right. 

(ierman Mary, the good, stupid nurse, who was 
supposed to be taking care of us, knew nothing 
about tides; and when we lame liack to the 
little creek which we must cross in leaving the 
beach, lo I the creek was a deep, broad stream, 
the like of which we had never seen. What 
was to be ilone ? Valiant Flossy proposed to 



o 



74 



WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE. 



swim across and get help, but Mary shrieked 
and would not hear of it, and we all protested 
that it was impossible. Then we perceived that 
we must spend the night on the beach; and 
when we were once accustomed to the idea, it 
was not without attraction for us. The sand was 
warm and dry, and full of shells and pleasant 
things ; it was August, and the night would be 
just cool enough for comfort after the hot day; 
we had a pailful of blackberries, which we had 
picked on the way down, meaning to eat them 
during our homeward walk; Julia could tell 
us stories; altogether it would be a very pleas- 
ant occasion. And then to think of the ro- 
mance of it ! " The Deserted Children ! " 
"Alone on a Sandbank!" "The Watchers of 
the Tide!" There was no end to the things 
that could be made out of it. So, though poor 
Mary wept and wrung her hands, mindful 
(which I cannot remember that we were) of 
our mother waiting for us at home, we were all 
very happy. 

The sun went down in golden state. Then, 
turning to the land, we watched the moon ris- 
ing, in softer radiance, but no less wonderful 
and glorious. Slowly the great orb rose, turn- 
ing from pale gold to purest silver. The sea 
darkened, and presently a little wind came up, 
and began to sing with the murmuring waves. 
We sang, too, some of the old German student- 
songs which our mother had taught us, and 
which were our favorite ditties. They rang out 
merrily over the water : 



or. 



Z>/c' Biiischgaiicr wolltcn wallfahrten geJi'n ! 
(The Binschgauer would on a pilgrimage go !) 

Was koiniiit dort von dcr Hoh'' ? 
(What comes there over the hill?) 



granted. Red-cap thanked the giant, and, as 
soon as he was alone, put the cover on the 
dish and said: 

Silver hunter, silver hare, 
Give me a ripe and juicy pear ! 

Taking off the cover, lie found the finest pear 
that ever was seen, shining like pure gold, with 
a crimson patch on one side. It was so deli- 
cious that it made Red-cap hungry, so he cov- 
ered the dish again and said : 

Silver hunter, silver rabbit. 

Give me an apple, and I '11 grab it ! 

Off came the cover, and lo ! there was an apple 

the very smell of which was too good for any 

one save the truly virtuous. It was so large 

that it filled the dish, and its flavor was not to 

be described, so wonderful was it. A third 

time the happy Red-cap covered his dish, and 

cried : 

Hunter and hare, of silver each, 
Give me a soft and velvet peach ! 

And when he saw the peach he cried out for 
jo